LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Class 


THE 


STORY  OF  A  CHILD 


TH.ANSLJITED  FROM  THE 
FRENCH  OF  PIERRE  LOT! 


BY 
CAROLINE    F.   SMITH 


BOSTON 

C.  C.  BIRCHARD  &  CO. 
1902 


SENERM- 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
C.  C.  Birchard  &  Company 


Stanbopc 
F.  H.  GILSON  COMPANY 

BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


flier  jfl&aje0ts 

,  (JSfcueen  of  TRoumanfa* 


December,  188- 

1AM  almost  too  old  to  undertake  this 
book,  for  a  sort  of  night  is  falling  about 
me;  where  shall  I  find  words  vital  and 
young  enough  for  the  task  ? 

To-morrow,  at  sea,  I  will  commence  it ; 
at  least  I  will  endeavor  to  put  into  it  all 
that  was  best  of  myself  at  a  time  when  as 
yet  there  was  nothing  very  bad. 

So  that  romantic  love  may  find  no  place 
in  it,  except  in  the  illusory  form  of  a  vision, 
I  will  end  it  at  an  early  age. 

And  to  the  sovereign  lady  whose  sugges- 
tion it  was  that  I  write  it,  I  offer  it  as  a 
humble  token  of  my  respect  and  admiration. 

PIERRE   LOTI. 


,  .         (. 

JL  O  U  ^  6 


preface* 


THERE  is  to-day  a  widely  spread  new 
interest  in  child  life,  a  desire  to  get 
nearer  to  children  and  understand  them. 
To  be  sure  child  study  is  not  new;  every 
wise  parent  and  every  sympathetic  teacher 
has  ever  been  a  student  of  children ;  but 
there  is  now  an  effort  to  do  more  consciously 
and  systematically  what  has  always  been 
done  in  some  way. 

In  the  few  years  since  this  modern  move- 
ment began  much  has  been  accomplished, 
yet  there  is  among  many  thoughtful  people 
a  strong  reaction  from  the  hopes  awakened 
by  the  enthusiastic  heralding  of  the  newer 
aspects  of  psychology.  It  had  been  sup- 
posed that  our  science  would  soon  revolu- 
tionize education ;  indeed,  taking  the  wish  for 
the  fact,  we  began  to  talk  about  the  new  and 
the  old  education  (both  mythical)  and  boast 
of  our  millennium.  I  would  not  underrate 
the  real  progress,  the  expansion  of  educa- 
tional activities,  the  enormous  gains  made  in 


vi  pretace, 

many  ways  ;  but  the  millennium  !  The  same 
old  errors  meet  us  in  new  forms,  the  old 
problems  are  yet  unsolved,  the  waste  is  so 
vast  that  we  sometimes  feel  thankful  that 
we  cannot  do  as  much  as  we  would,  and 
that  Nature  protects  children  from  our  worst 
mistakes. 

What  is  the  source  of  this  disappoint- 
ment ?  Is  it  not  that  education,  like  all  other 
aspects  of  life,  can  never  be  reduced  to  mere 
science  ?  We  need  science,  it  must  be  in- 
creasingly the  basis  of  all  life ;  but  exact 
science  develops  very  slowly,  and  mean- 
time we  must  live.  Doubtless  the  time  will 
come  when  our  study  of  mind  will  have 
advanced  so  far  that  we  can  lay  down  cer- 
tain great  principles  as  tested  laws,  and  thus 
clarify  many  questions.  Even  then  the  solu- 
tion of  the  problem  will  not  be  in  the  enun- 
ciation of  the  theoretic  principle,  but  will  lie 
in  its  application  to  practice  ;  and  that  appli- 
cation must  always  depend  upon  instinct, 
tact,  appreciation,  as  well  as  upon  the  sci- 
entific law.  Even  the  aid  that  science  can 
contribute  is  given  slowly ;  meanwhile  we 
must  work  with  these  children  and  lift  them 
to  the  largest  life. 

It  is  in  relation  to  this  practical  work  of 
education  that  our  effort  to  study  children 
gets  its  human  value.  There  are  always  two 


preface*  vii 

points  of  view  possible  with  reference  to  life. 
From  the  standpoint  of  nature  and  science, 
individuals  count  for  little.  Nature  can 
waste  a  thousand  acorns  to  raise  one  oak, 
hundreds  of  children  may  be  sacrificed  that 
a  truth  may  be  seen.  But  from  the  ethical 
and  human  point  of  view  the  meaning  of  all 
life  is  in  each  individual.  That  one  child 
should  be  lost  is  a  kind  of  ruin  to  the  uni- 
verse. 

It  is  this  second  point  of  view  which  every 
parent  and  every  teacher  must  take ;  and  the 
great  practical  value  of  our  new  study  of 
children  is  that  it  brings  us  into  personal 
relation  with  the  child  world,  and  so  aids  in 
that  subtle  touch  of  life  upon  life  which  is 
the  very  heart  of  education. 

It  is  therefore  that  certain  phases  of  the 
study  of  child  life  have  a  high  worth  without 
giving  definite  scientific  results.  Peculiarly 
significant  among  these  is  the  study  of  the 
autobiographies  of  childhood.  The  door  to 
the  great  universe  is  always  to  the  personal 
world.  Each  of  us  appreciates  child  life 
through  his  own  childhood,  and  through  the 
children  with  whom  it  is  his  blessed  fortune 
to  be  associated.  If  then  it  is  possible  for 
him  to  know  intimately  another  child  through 
autobiography,  one  more  window  has  been 
opened  into  the  child  "world  —  one  more  in- 


viii  preface* 

V,  terpretative  unit  is  given  him  through  which 
to  read  the  lesson  of  the  whole. 

It  is  true,  autobiographies  written  later  in 
life  cannot  give  us  the  absolute  truth  of  child- 
hood. We  see  our  early  experiences  through 
the  mists,  golden  or  gray,  of  the  years  that 
lie  between.  It  is  poetry  as  well  as  truth, 
as  Goethe  recognized  in  the  title  of  his  own 
self-study.  Nevertheless  the  individual  who 
has  lived  the  life  can  best  bring  us  into  touch 
with  it,  and  the  very  poetry  is  as  true  as  the 
fact  because  interpretative  of  the  spirit. 

It  is  peculiarly  necessary  that  teachers 
/  harassed  with  the  routine  of  their  work, 
and  parents  distracted  with  the  multitude 
of  details  of  daily  existence,  should  have  such 
windows  opened  through  which  they  may 
look  across  the  green  meadows  and  into  the 
sunlit  gardens  of  childhood.  The  result  is 
not  theories  of  child  life  but  appreciation  of 
children.  How  one  who  has  read  under- 
standingly  Sonva  Kovalevsky's  story  of  her 
girlhood  could  ever  leave  unanswered  a  child 
starving  for  love  I  cannot  see.  Mills'  account 
of  his  early  life  is  worth  more  than  many 
theories  in  showing  the  deforming  effect  of 
J  an  education  that  is  formal  discipline  with- 
out an  awakening  of  the  heart  and  soul. 
Goethe's  great  study  of  his  childhood  and 
youth  must  give  a  new  hold  upon  life  to 


preface.  « 

any  one  who  will    appreciatively  respond 
to  it. 

A  better  illustration  of  the  subtle  worth  of  \ 
such  literature,  in  developing  appreciation  > 
of  those  inner  deeps  of  child  life  that  escape 
definition  and  evaporate  from  the  figures  of 
the  statistician,  could  scarcely  be  found  than 
Pierre  Loti's  "  Story  of  a  Child."  There  is 
hardly  a  fact  in  the  book.  It  tells  not  what 
the  child  did  or  what  was  done  to  him,  but 
what  he  felt,  thought,  dreamed.  A  record 
of  impressions  through  the  dim  years  of 
awakening,  it  reveals  a  peculiar  and  subtle 
type  of  personality  most  necessary  to  un- 
derstand. All  that  Loti  is  and  has  been 
is  gathered  up  and  foreshadowed  in  the 
child.  Exquisite  sensitiveness  to  impres- 
sions whether  of  body  or  soul,  the  egotism 
of  a  nature  much  occupied  with  its  own  sub- 
jective feelings,  a  being  atune  in  response  to 
the  haunting  melody  of  the  sunset,  and  the 
vague  mystery  of  the  seas,  a  subtle  melan- 
choly that  comes  from  the  predominance 
of  feeling  over  masculine  power  of  action, 
leading  one  to  drift  like  Francesca  with  the 
winds  of  emotion,  terrible  or  sweet,  rather 
than  to  fix  the  tide  of  the  universe  in  the 
centre  of  a  forceful  deed — all  these  qualities 
are  in  the  dreams  of  the  child  as  in  the  life 
of  the  man. 


x  preface* 

And  the  style  ?  —  dreamy,  suggestive,  me- 
lodious, flowing  on  and  on  with  its  exquisite 
music,  wakening  sad  reveries,  and  hinting  of 
gray  days  of  wind  and  rain,  when  the  gust 
around  the  house  wails  of  broken  hopes  and 
ideals  so  long-deferred  as  to  be  half-forgotten, 

—  the  minor  sob  of  his  music  expresses  the 
spirit  of  Loti  as  much  as  do  the  moods  of 
the  child  he  describes. 

Such  a  type,  like  all  others,  has  its 
strength  and  its  weakness.  Such  a  type, 
like  all  others,  is  implicitly  in  us  all.  Do 
we  not  know  it  —  the  haunting  hunger  for 
the  permanence  of  impressions  that  come 
and  go,  which  pulsates  through  the  book 
till  we  can  scarcely  keep  back  the  tears; 
the  brooding  over  the  two  sombre  mysteries 

—  Death  and  Life  (and  which  is  the  darker?) ; 
the  sense  of  fate  driving  ttfe  on  —  the  fate  of 
a  temperament  that  restlessly  longs  for  new 
impressions  and  intense  emotions,  without 
the  vigor  of  action  that  cuts   the   Gordian 
knot  of  fancy  and  speculation  with  the  swift 
sword-stroke  of  an  heroic  deed. 

It  is  fortunate  that  the  translator  has 
caught  the  subtle  charm  of  Loti's  style,  so 
difficult  to  render  in  another  speech,  in  an 
amazing  degree.  This  is  peculiarly  neces- 
sary here,  for  accuracy  of  translation  means 
giving  the  delicate  changes  of  color  and 


preface.  xi 

elusive  chords  of  music  that  voice  the 
moods  and  impressions  of  which  the  book 
is  made. 

Let  us  read  the  revelation  of  this  book 
not  primarily  to  condemn  or  praise,  or  even 
to  estimate  and  define,  but  to  appreciate. 
If  it  be  true  that  no  one  ever  looked  into 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  except  through  the 
eyes  of  a  little  child,  if  it  be  true  that  the 
eyes  of  every  unspoiled  child  are  such  a 
window,  take  the  vision  and  be  thankful. 
If,  perchance,  this  window  should  open  to- 
ward strange  abysses  that  reach  vaguely 
away,  or  upon  dark  meadows  that  lie  ghost- 
like in  the  mingled  light,  if  out  of  the  abyss 
rises,  undefined,  the  vast,  dim  shape  of  the 
mystery,  and  wakens  in  us  the  haunting 
memories  of  dead  yesterdays  and  forgotten 
years,  if  we  seem  carried  past  the  day  into 
the  gray  vastness  that  is  beyond  the  sun- 
set and  before  the  dawn,  let  us  recognize 
that  the  mystery  or  mysteries,  the  annun- 
ciation of  the  Infinite  is  a  little  child. 

EDWARD  HOWARD  GRIQGS. 


Stors  of  a 


•#"  r** 

C  UM:       ,:;TY 
m 


_ 
CHAPTER   I. 

IT  is  with  some  degree  of  awe  that  I  touch 
upon  the  enigma  of  my  impressions  at 
the  commencement  of  my  life.  I  am  almost 
doubtful  whether  they  had  reality  "within  my 
own  experience,  or  whether  they  are  not, 
rather,  recollections  mysteriously  trans- 
mitted —  I  feel  an  almost  sacred  hesitation 
when  I  would  fathom  their  depths. 

I  came  forth  from  the  darkness  of  uncon- 
sciousness very  gradually,  for  my  mind  was 
illumined  only  fitfully,  but  then  by  outbursts 
of  splendor  that  compelled  and  fascinated 
my  infant  gaze.  When  the  light  was  ex- 
tinguished, I  lapsed  once  more  into  the  non- 
consciousness  of  the  new-born  animal,  of 
the  tiny  plant  just  germinating. 

The  history  of  my  earliest  years  is  that 
of  a  child  much  indulged  and  petted  to 
whom  nothing  of  moment  happened;  and 


2  Ube  Storp  of  a  Cbflfc. 

into  whose  narrow,  protected  life  no  jar- 
ring came  that  was  not  foreseen,  and  the 
shock  of  which  was  not  deadened  with 
solicitous  care.  In  my  manners  I  was  al- 
ways very  tractable  and  submissive.  That 
I  may  not  make  my  recital  tedious,  I  will 
note  without  continuity  and  without  the 
proper  transitions  those  moments  which 
are  impressed  upon  my  mind  because  of 
their  strangeness,  those  moments  that  are 
still  so  vividly  remembered,  although  I  have 
forgotten  many  poignant  sorrows,  many 
lands,  adventures,  and  places. 

I  was  at  that  time  like  a  fledgeling 
swallow  living  high  up  in  a  niche  in  the 
eaves,  who  from  time  to  time  peeps  out 
over  the  top  of  its  nest  with  its  little 
bright  eyes.  With  the  eyes  of  imagina- 
tion it  sees  into  the  deeps  of  space, 
although  to  the  actual  vision  only  a  court- 
yard and  street  are  visible ;  and  it  sees  into 
depths  which  it  will  presently  need  to  jour- 
ney through.  It  was  during  such  moments 
of  clairvoyance  that  I  had  a  vision  of  the  in- 
finity of  which  before  my  present  life  I  was 
a  part.  Then,  in  spite  of  myself,  my  con- 
sciousness flagged,  and  for  days  together 
I  lived  the  tranquil,  subconscious  life  of 
early  childhood. 

At  first  my  mind,  altogether  unimpressed 


Ube  Story  ot  a  Cbflfc*  3 

and  undeveloped,  may  be  compared  to  a 
photographer's  apparatus  fitted  with  its  sen- 
sitized glass.  Objects  insufficiently  lighted 
up  make  no  impression  upon  the  virgin 
plates ;  but  when  a  vivid  splendor  falls 
upon  them,  and  when  they  are  encircled 
by  disks  of  light,  these  once  dim  objects 
now  engrave  themselves  upon  the  glass. 
My  first  recollections  are  of  bright  summer 
days  and  sparkling  noon  times,  —  or  more 
truly,  are  recollections  of  the  light  of  wood 
fires  burning  with  great  ruddy  flames. 


Storg  ot  a 


CHAPTER   II. 

AS  if  it  were  yesterday  I  recall  the  even- 
ing when   I  suddenly  discovered  that 
I  could  run  and  jump  ;  and  I  remember  that 
I  -was  intoxicated  by  the  delicious  sensation 
almost  to  the  point  of  falling. 

This  must  have  been  at  about  the  com- 
mencement of  my  second  winter.  At  the 
sad  hour  of  twilight  I  was  in  the  dining- 
room  of  my  parents'  house,  which  room 
had  always  seemed  a  very  vast  one  to  me. 
At  first  I  was  quiet,  made  so,  no  doubt,  by 
the  influence  of  the  environing  darkness,  for 
the  lamp  was  not  yet  lighted.  But  as  the 
hour  for  dinner  approached,  a  maid-servant 
came  in  and  threw  an  armful  of  small  wood 
into  the  fireplace  to  reanimate  the  dying 
fire.  Immediately  there  was  a  beautiful 
bright  light,  and  the  leaping  flames  illum- 
ined everything,  and  waves  of  light  spread 
to  the  far  part  of  the  room  where  I  sat. 
The  flames  danced  and  leaped  with  a  twin- 
ing motion  ever  higher  and  higher  and  more 
gayly,  and  the  tremulous  shadows  along  the 
wall  ran  to  their  hiding-places  —  oh  !  how 


TTbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc,  5 

quickly  I  arose  overwhelmed  with  admi- 
ration, for  I  recollect  that  I  had  been  sit- 
ting at  the  feet  of  my  great-aunt  Bertha 
(at  that  time  already  very  old)  -who  half 
dozed  in  her  chair.  We  were  near  a  win- 
dow through  which  the  gray  night  fil- 
tered ;  I  was  seated  upon  one  of  those 
high,  old-fashioned  foot-stools  with  two 
steps,  so  convenient  for  little  children  who 
can  from  that  vantage  ground  put  their 
heads  in  grandmother's  or  grand-aunt's  lap, 
and  wheedle  so  effectually. 

I  arose  in  ecstasy,  and  approached  the 
flames ;  then  in  the  circle  of  light  which 
lay  upon  the  carpet  I  began  to  walk  around 
and  around  and  to  turn.  Ever  faster  and 
faster  I  went,  until  suddenly  I  felt  an  un- 
wonted elasticity  run  through  my  limbs, 
and  in  a  twinkling  I  invented  a  new  and 
amusing  style  of  motion  ;  it  was  to  push 
my  feet  very  hard  against  the  floor,  and 
then  to  lift  them  up  together  suddenly  for  a 
half  second.  "When  I  fell,  up  I  sprang  and 
recommenced  my  play.  Bang  !  bang  !  with 
ever  increasing  noise  I  went  against  the 
floor,  and  at  last  I  began  to  feel  a  singular 
but  agreeable  giddiness  in  my  head.  I 
knew  how  to  jump  !  I  knew  how  to  run  ! 

I  am  convinced  that  that  is  my  earliest 
distinct  recollection  of  great  joyousness. 


6  TTbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc, 

"  Dear  me  !  What  is  the  matter  with  the 
child  this  evening?"  asked  my  great-aunt 
Bertha,  with  some  anxiety.  And  I  hear 
again  the  unexpected  sound  of  her  voice. 

But  still  I  kept  on  jumping.  Like  those 
tiny  foolish  moths  which  of  an  evening  re- 
volve about  the  light  of  a  lamp,  I  went 
around  in  the  luminous  circle  which  wid- 
ened and  retracted,  ever  taking  form  from 
the  wavering  light  of  the  flames.  And  I 
remember  all  of  this  so  vividly  that  my  eyes 
can  still  see  the  smallest  details  of  the  tex- 
ture of  the  carpet  which  was  the  scene  of 
the  event.  It  was  of  a  durable  stuff  called 
home-spun,  woven  in  the  country  by  native 
weavers.  (Our  house  was  still  furnished  as 
it  had  been  in  my  maternal  grandmother's 
time,  as  she  had  arranged  it  after  she  had 
quitted  the  Island,  and  come  to  the  main- 
land.—  A  little  later  I  will  speak  of  this 
Island  which  had  already  a  mysterious  at- 
traction for  my  youthful  imagination.  —  It 
was  a  simple  country  house,  notable  for  its 
Huguenot  austerity ;  and  it  was  a  home 
where  immaculate  cleanliness  and  extreme 
order  were  the  sole  luxuries.) 

In  the  circle  of  light,  which  grew  ever 
more  and  more  narrow,  I  still  jumped ;  but 
as  I  did  so  I  had  thoughts  that  were  of 
an  intensity  not  habitual  with  me.  At  the 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbilfc*  7 

same  time  that  my  tiny  limbs  discovered 
their  power,  my  spirit  also  knew  itself;  a 
burst  of  light  overspread  my  mind  where 
dawning  ideas  still  showed  forth  feebly. 
And  it  is  without  doubt  to  the  inner  awak- 
ening that  this  fleeting  moment  of  my  life 
owes  its  existence,  owes  undoubtedly  its 
permanency  in  memory.  But  vainly  I  seek 
for  the  words,  that  seem  ever  to  escape 
me,  through  which  to  express  my  elusive 
emotions.  .  .  .  Here  in  the  dining-room  I 
look  about  and  see  the  chairs  standing  the 
length  of  the  wall,  and  I  am  reminded  of 
the  aged  grandmother,  grand-aunts  and 
aunts  who  always  come  at  a  certain  hour 
and  seat  themselves  in  them.  Why  are 
they  not  here  now  ?  At  this  moment  I 
would  like  to  feel  their  protecting  presence 
about  me.  Probably  they  are  upstairs  in 
their  rooms  on  the  second  floor ;  between 
them  and  me  there  is  the  dim  stairway,  the 
stairway  that  I  people  with  shadowy  beings 
the  thought  of  which  makes  me  tremble. 
.  .  .  And  my  mother  ?  I  would  wish  most 
especially  for  her,  but  I  know  that  she  has 
gone  out,  gone  out  into  the  long  streets 
which  in  my  imagination  have  no  end.  I 
had  myself  gone  to  the  door  with  her  and 
had  asked  her:  "When  returnest  thou?" 
And  she  had  promised  me  that  she  would 


8  ttbe  Stors  of  a  Gbflfc, 

return  speedily.  Later  they  told  me  that 
•when  I  -was  a  child  I  would  never  permit 
any  members  of  the  family  to  leave  the 
house  to  go  walking  or  visiting  without  first 
obtaining  their  assurance  of  a  speedy  home- 
coming. "You  will  come  back  soon?"  I 
would  say,  and  I  always  asked  the  question 
anxiously,  as  I  followed  them  to  the  door. 

My  mother  had  departed,  and  it  gave 
my  heart  a  feeling  of  heaviness  to  know 
that  she  was  out.  Out  in  the  streets  !  I 
was  content  not  to  be  there  where  it  was 
cold  and  dark,  there  where  little  children  so 
easily  lost  their  way,  —  how  snug  it  was 
to  be  within  doors  before  the  fire  that 
warmed  me  through  and  through ;  how 
nice  it  was  to  be  at  home!  I  had  never 
realized  it  until  this  evening  —  doubtless  it 
was  my  first  distinct  feeling  of  attachment 
to  hearth  and  home,  and  I  was  sadly 
troubled  at  the  thought  of  the  immense, 
strange  world  lying  beyond  the  door.  It 
was  then  that  I  had,  for  the  first  time,  a 
conscious  affection  for  my  aged  aunts  and 
grand-aunts,  who  cared  for  me  in  infancy, 
whom  I  longed  to  have  seated  around  me 
at  this  dim,  sad,  twilight  hour. 

In  the  meantime  the  once  bright  and  play- 
ful flames  had  died  down,  the  armful  of 
wood  was  consumed,  and  as  the  lamp  was 


Stors  ot  a  Cbiifc.  9 

not  lighted,  the  room  was  quite  dark.  I 
had  already  stumbled  upon  the  home-spun 
carpet,  but  as  I  had  not  hurt  myself,  I 
recommenced  my  amusing  play.  For  an 
instant  I  thought  to  experience  a  new  but 
strange  joy  by  going  into  the  shadowy  and 
distant  recesses  of  the  room ;  but  I  was 
overtaken  there  by  an  indefinable  terror  of 
something  which  I  cannot  name,  and  I 
hastily  took  refuge  in  the  dim  circle  of  light 
and  looked  behind  me  with  a  shudder  to 
see  whether  anything  had  followed  me  from 
out  those  dark  corners.  Finally  the  flames 
died  away  entirely,  and  I  was  really 
afraid ;  aunt  Bertha  sat  motionless  upon 
her  chair,  and  although  I  felt  that  her  eyes 
were  upon  me  I  was  not  reassured.  The 
very  chairs,  the  chairs  ranged  about  the 
room,  began  to  disquiet  me  because  their 
long  shadows,  that  stretched  behind  them 
exaggerating  the  height  of  ceiling  and  length 
of  wall,  moved  restlessly  like  souls  in  the 
agonies  of  death.  And  especially  there  was 
a  half-open  door  that  led  into  a  very  dark 
hall,  which  in  its  turn  opened  into  a  large 
empty  parlor  absolutely  dark.  Oh !  with 
what  intensity  I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  that 
door  to  which  I  would  not  for  the  world 
have  turned  my  back  ! 

This   was   the   beginning    of   those    daily 


10  Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc, 

•winter-evening  terrors  which  in  that  be- 
loved home  cast  such  a  gloom  over  my 
childhood. 

What  I  feared  to  see  enter  that  door  had 
no  'well  defined  form,  but  the  fear  'was  none 
the  less  definite  to  me :  and  it  kept  me 
standing  motionless  near  the  dead  fire  with 
wide-open  eyes  and  fluttering  heart.  When 
my  mother  suddenly  entered  the  room  by 
a  different  door,  oh !  how  I  clung  to  her 
and  covered  my  face  with  her  dress  :  it  was 
a  supreme  protection,  the  sanctuary  where 
no  harm  could  reach  me,  the  harbor  of 
harbors  where  the  storm  is  forgotten.  .  .  . 

At  this  instant  the  thread  of  recollection 
breaks,  I  can  follow  it  no  farther. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc,  11 


CHAPTER   III. 

AFTER  the  ineffaceable  impression  left 
by  that  first  fright  and  that  first  dance 
before  the  winter  fire,  many  months  passed 
during  which  no  other  events  were  engraven 
upon  my  memory,  and  I  relapsed  into  a  twi- 
light state  similar  to  that  at  the  commence- 
ment of  my  life.  But  the  mental  dimness 
was  pierced  now  and  again  with  a  bright 
light ;  as  the  gray  of  early  morning  is  tinged 
by  the  rose-color  of  dawning. 

I  believe  that  the  impressions  which  suc- 
ceeded were  those  of  the  summer  time,  of 
the  great  sun  and  nature.  I  recall  feeling  an 
almost  delicious  terror  when  one  day  I  found 
myself  alone  in  the  midst  of  tall  June  grasses 
that  grew  high  as  my  head.  But  here  the 
secret  working  of  self  consciousness  is  al- 
most too  entangled  with  the  things  of  the 
past  for  me  to  explain  it. 

We  were  visiting  at  a  country  place  called 
Limoise,  a  place  that  at  a  later  time  played 
a  great  part  in  my  life.  It  belonged  to 

neighbors  and  friends,  the  D s,  whose 

house  in  town  was  directly  pext  to  ours. 


12  ttbe  Stors  of  a  <rbilt>. 

Perhaps  I  had  visited  Limoise  the  preced- 
ing summer,  but  at  that  time  I  was  very  like 
a  cocoon  before  it  has  crawled  from  its 
silken  wrapping.  The  day  that  I  now  refer 
to  is  the  one  in  which  I  was  able  to  reflect 
for  the  first  time,  in  which  I  first  knew  the 
sweetness  of  reverie. 

I  have  forgotten  our  departure,  the  car- 
riage ride  and  our  arrival.  But  I  remember 
distinctly  that  late  one  hot  afternoon,  as  the 
sun  was  setting,  I  found  myself  alone  in  a 
remote  part  of  a  deserted  garden.  The  gray 
walls  overgrown  with  ivy  and  mosses  sepa- 
rated its  grove  of  trees  from  the  moorland 
and  the  rocky  country  round  about  it.  For 
me,  brought  up  in  the  city,  the  old  and  soli- 
tary garden,  where  even  the  fruit  trees  were 
dying  from  old  age,  had  all  the  mystery  and 
charm  of  a  primeval  forest.  I  crossed  a 
border  of  box,  and  I  was  in  the  midst  of 
a  large  uncultivated  tract  filled  with  climb- 
ing asparagus  and  great  weeds.  Then  I  cow- 
ered down,  as  is  the  fashion  of  little  children, 
that  I  might  be  more  effectually  hidden  by 
•what  hid  me  sufficiently  already,  and  I  re- 
mained there  motionless  with  eyes  dilated 
and  with  quickening  spirit,  half  afraid,  half 
enraptured.  The  feeling  that  I  experienced 
in  the  presence  of  these  unfamiliar  things 
was  one  of  reflection  rather  than  of  astonish- 


Stors  of  a  CbflO,  13 

ment.  I  knew  that  the  bright  green  vegeta- 
tion closing  in  about  me  was  everywhere  in 
no  less  measure  than  in  the  heart  of  this 
forest,  and  emotions,  sad  and  weird  and 
vague  took  possession  of  me  and  affrighted 
but  fascinated  me.  That  I  might  remain 
hidden  as  long  as  possible  I  crouched  lower 
and  still  lower,  and  I  felt  the  joy  a  little 
Indian  boy  feels  when  he  is  in  his  beloved 
forest. 

Suddenly  I  heard  some  one  call :  "  Pierre  ! 
Pierre!  Dear  Pierre!"  I  did  not  reply, 
but  instead  lay  as  close  as  possible  to 
the  ground,  and  sought  to  hide  under  the 
weeds  and  the  waving  branches  of  the 
asparagus. 

Still  I  heard:  "Pierre,  Pierre."  It  was 
Lucette  ;  I  knew  her  voice,  and  from  the 
mockery  of  her  tone  I  felt  sure  that  she  had 
spied  me.  But  I  could  not  see  her,  although 
I  looked  about  me  very  carefully :  no  one 
was  visible ! 

With  peals  of  laughter  she  continued  to 
call,  and  her  voice  grew  merrier  and  mer- 
rier. "Where  can  she  be  ?  thought  I 

Ah  !  at  last  I  spied  her  perched  upon  the 
twisted  branch  of  a  tree  that  was  overhung 
with  gray  moss  ! 

I  was  fairly  caught  and  I  came  out  of  my 
green  hiding  place. 


14  ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc, 

As  I  rose  I  gazed  over  the  wild  and  flower- 
ing things,  and  saw  the  corner  of  the  old 
moss-grown  wall  that  enclosed  the  garden. 
That  wall  was  destined  to  be  at  a  later  time 
a  very  familiar  haunt  of  mine,  for  on  the 
Thursday  holidays  during  my  college  life  I 
spent  many  a  happy  hour  sitting  upon  it 
contemplating  the  peaceful  and  quiet  coun- 
try, and  there  I  mused,  to  the  chirping 
accompaniment  of  the  crickets,  on  those 
distant  countries  fairer  and  sunnier  than  my 
own.  And  upon  that  summer  day  those 
gray  and  crumbling  stones,  defaced  by 
the  sun  and  "weather,  and  overgrown  with 
mosses,  gave  me  for  the  first  time  an  indefin- 
able impression  of  the  persistence  of  things  ; 
a  vague  conception  of  existences  antedating 
my  own,  in  times  long  past. 

Lucette  D ,  my  elder  by  eight  or  ten 

years,  seemed  to  me  already  a  grown  per- 
son. I  cannot  recall  the  time  when  I  did 
not  know  her.  Later  I  came  to  love  her 
as  a  sister,  and  her  early  death  in  her 
prime  was  one  of  the  first  real  griefs  of  my 
boyhood. 

And  the  first  recollection  I  have  of  her  is 
as  I  saw  her  in  the  branches  of  the  old  pear 
tree.  Her  image  doubtless  begets  a  vividness 
from  the  two  new  emotions  with  which  it  is 
blended  :  the  enchanting  uneasiness  I  felt  at 


tlbe  Stors  of  a  CbiU>.  15 

the  invasion  of  green  nature  and  the  melan- 
choly reverie  that  took  possession  of  me  as 
I  contemplated  the  old  wall,  type  of  ancieni 
things  and  olden  times. 


16  Ube  Stors  of  a  CbiU>. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

IWILLr  now  endeavor  to  explain  the  im- 
pression that  the  sea  made  upon  me  at 
our  first  brief  and  melancholy  encounter, 
which  took  place  at  twilight  upon  the  even- 
ing of  my  arrival  on  the  Island. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  I  could 
scarcely  see  it,  it  had  so  remarkable  an  effect 
on  me  that  in  a  single  moment  it  was  en- 
graven upon  my  memory  forever.  I  feel  a 
retrospective  shudder  run  through  me  when 
my  spirit  broods  upon  the  recollection. 

We  had  but  newly  arrived  at  this  village 
near  St.  Ongeoise,  where  my  parents  had 
rented  a  fisherman's  house  for  the  bathing 
season.  I  knew  that  we  had  come  here  for 
something  called  the  sea,  but  I  had  had  no 
glimpse  of  it  (a  line  of  dunes  hid  it  from  me 
because  of  my  short  stature),  and  I  was  ex- 
tremely impatient  to  become  acquainted 
with  it ;  therefore  after  dinner,  as  night  was 
falling,  I  went  alone  to  seek  this  mysterious 
thing. 

The  air  was  sharp  and  biting,  and  unlike 
any  I  had  experienced,  and  from  behind 


Ube  Stors  of  a-Cbflft*  17 

the  hillocks  of  sand,  along  which  the  path 
led,  there  came  a  faint  but  majestic  noise. 
Everything  affrighted  me,  the  unfamiliar 
way;  the  twilight  falling  from  the  overcast 
sky;  and  the  loneliness  of  this  part  of  the 
village.  But. ^nspired  by  one  of  those  great 
and  sudden  resolutions  that  come  some- 
times to  the  most  timid,  I  went  forward 
with  a  firm  step. 

Suddenly  I  stopped  overcome  and  almost 
paralyzed  by  fear,  for  something  took  shape 
before  me,  something  dark  and  surging 
sprang  up  from  all  sides  at  the  same  time, 
and  it  seemed  to  stretch  out  endlessly.  It 
was  something  so  vast  and  full  of  motion 
that  I  was  seized  with  a  deadly  vertigo  —  it 
was  the  sea  of  my  imagining !  Without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  without  asking  how 
this  knowledge  had  been  wrought,  without 
astonishment  even,  I  recognized  it  and  I 
trembled  with  a  great  emotion.  It  was  so 
dark  a  green  as  to  be  almost  black;  to  me 
it  seemed  unstable,  perfidious,  all-ingulfing, 
always  turbulent,  and  of  a  sinister,  mena- 
cing aspect.  Above  it,  in  harmony  with  it, 
stretched  the  gray  and  lowering  sky. 

And  far  away,  very  far  away,  upon  the 
immeasurably  distant  horizon  I  perceived  a 
break  between  the  sky  and  the  waters,  and 
a  pale  yellow  light  showed  through  this  cleft. 


18  TTbe  Stors  of  a  Cbftt>* 

Had  I  been  to  the  sea  before  to  recognize 
it  thus  quickly  ?  Perhaps  I  had,  but  with- 
out being  conscious  of  it,  for  when  I  was 
about  five  or  six  months  old  I  had  been 
brought  to  the  Island  by  my  great  aunt,  my 
grandmother's  sister;  or  perhaps  because  it 
had  played  so  great  a  part  in  my  sea-faring 
ancestors'  lives  I  was  born  with  a  nascent 
conception  of  it  and  its  immensity. 

We  communed  together  a  moment,  one 
with  the  other — I  was  deeply  fascinated. 
At  our  first  encounter  I  am  sure  I  had  a 
nebulous  presentiment  that  I  would  one  day 
go  to  it  in  spite  of  my  hesitation,  in  spite  of 
all  the  efforts  put  forth  to  hold  me  back,  — 
and  the  emotion  that  overwhelmed  me  in 
the  presence  of  the  sea  was  not  only  one  of 
fear,  but  I  felt  also  an  inexpressible  sadness, 
and  I  seemed  to  feel  the  anguish  of  desola- 
tion, bereavement  and  exile.  With  down- 
cast mien,  and  with  hair  blown  about  by  the 
wind,  I  turned  and  ran  home.  I  was  in 
extreme  haste  to  be  with  my  mother;  I 
wished  to  embrace  her  and  to  cling  close  to 
her ;  I  desired  to  be  with  her  so  that  she 
might  console  me  for  the  thousand  indefi- 
nite, anticipated  sorrows  that  surged  through 
my  heart  at  the  sight  of  those  green  waters, 
so  vast  and  so  deep. 


Stors  of  a  Cbilfc,  19 


MY  mother !  —  I  have  already  mentioned 
her  two  or  three  times  in  the  course  of 
this  recital,  but  without  stopping  to  speak  of 
her  at  length.  It  seems  that  at  first  she  was 
no  more  to  me  than  a  natural  and  instinctive 
refuge  where  I  ran  for  shelter  from  all 
terrifying  and  unfamiliar  things,  from  all  the 
dark  forebodings  that  had  no  real  cause. 

But  I  believe  she  took  on  reality  and  life 
for  the  first  time  in  the  burst  of  ineffable 
tenderness  which  I  felt  when  one  May 
morning  she  entered  my  room  with  a  bou- 
quet of  pink  hyacinths  in  her  hand;  —  she 
brought  in  with  her  as  she  came  a  ray  of 
sunlight. 

I  was  convalescing  from  one  of  the  mala- 
dies peculiarto  children, — measles  or  whoop- 
ing cough,  I  know  not  which,  —  and  I  had 
been  ordered  to  remain  in  bed  and  to  keep 
warm.  By  the  rays  of  light  that  filtered  in 
through  the  closed  shutters  I  divined  the 
spring-time  warmth  and  brightness  of  the 
stan  and  air,  and  I  felt  sad  that  I  had  to 
remain  behind  the  curtains  of  my  tiny  white 


20  Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

bed ;  I  wished  to  rise  and  go  out ;  but  most 
of  all  I  had  a  desire  to  see  my  mother. 

The  door  opened  and  she  entered,  smiling. 
Ah,  I  remember  it  so  well !  I  recall  so  dis- 
tinctly how  she  looked  as  she  stood  upon 
the  threshold  of  the  door.  And  I  remember 
that  she  brought  in  with  her  some  of  the 
sunlight  and  balminess  of  the  spring  day. 

I  see  again  the  expression  of  her  face  as 
she  looked  at  me ;  and  I  hear  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  and  recall  the  details  of  her^  be- 
loved dress,  that  would  look  funny  and  old- 
fashioned  to  me  now.  She  had  returned 
from  her  morning  shopping,  and  she  wore  a 
straw  hat  trimmed  with  yellow  roses,  and 
a  shawl  of  lilac  barege  (it  was  the  period  of 
the  shawl)  sprinkled  with  tiny  bouquets  of 
violets.  Her  dark  curls  (the  poor  beloved 
curls  to-day,  alas  !  so  thin  and  white)  were 
at  this  time  without  a  gray  hair.  There  was 
about  her  the  fragrance  of  the  May  day,  and 
her  face  as  it  looked  that  morning  with  its 
broad  brimmed  hat  is  still  distinctly  present 
•with  me.  Besides  the  bouquet  of  pink  hya- 
cinths, she  had  brought  me  a  tiny  watering- 
pot,  an  exact  imitation  in  miniature  of  the 
crockery  ones  so  much  used  by  the  countr 
people. 

As  she  leaned  over  my  bed  to  embrace  m 
I  felt  as  if  every  wish  was  gratified.     I  n 


Ube  Stors  of  a  GbiU>,  21 

longer  had  a  desire  to  weep,  nor  to  rise  from 
my  bed,  nor  to  go  out.  She  was  with  me 
and  that  sufficed  —  I  was  consoled,  tran- 
quillized, and  re-created  by  her  gracious 
presence. 

I  was,  I  think,  a  little  more  than  three 
years  old  at  this  time,  and  my  mother  must 
have  been  about  forty-two  years  of  age ;  but  ( 
I  had  not  the  least  notion  of  age  in  regard  to 
her,  and  it  had  never  occurred  to  me  to 
wonder  whether  she  was  young  or  old  ;  nor 
did  I  realize  until  a  later  time  that  she  was 
beautiful.  No,  at  this  period  that  she  was 
her  own  dear  self  was  enough ;  to  me  she 
was  in  face  and  form  a  person  so  apart  and 
so  unique,  that  I  would  not  have  dreamed  of 
comparing  her  -with  any  one  else.  From 
her  whole  being  there  emanated  such  a  joy- 
ousness,  security  and  tenderness,  and  so 
much  goodness  that  from  thence  was  born 
my  understanding  of  faith  and  prayer. 

I  would  that  I  could  speak  hallowed  words 
to  the  first  blessed  form  that  I  find  in  the 
book  of  memory.  I  would  it  were  possible 
that  I  could  greet  my  mother  -with  words 
filled  with  the  meaning  I  wish  to  convey. 
They  are  -words  which  cause  bountiful  tears 
to  flow,  but  tears  fraught  with  I  know  not 
how  much  of  the  sweetness  of  consolation 
and  joy,  words  that  are  ever,  and  in  spite  of 


22  Ube  Stors  of  a  CbfR>. 

everything,  filled  with  the  hope  of  an  im- 
mortal reunion. 

And  since  I  have  touched  upon  this  mys- 
tery that  has  had  such  an  influence  upon  my 
soul,  I  will  here  set  down  that  my  mother 
alone  is  the  only  person  in  the  -world  of 
whom  I  have  the  feeling  that  death  cannot 
separate  me.  With  other  human  beings, 
those  whom  I  have  loved  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul,  I  have  tried  to  imagine  a  hereafter, 
a  to-morrow  in  which  there  shall  be  no  to- 
morrow ;  but  no,  I  cannot !  Rather  I  have 
always  had  a  horrible  consciousness  of  our 
nothingness  —  dust  to  dust,  ashes  to  ashes. 
Because  of  my  mother  alone  have  I  been 
able  to  keep  intact  the  faith  of  my  early 
days.  It  still  seems  to  me  that  when  I  have 
finished  playing  my  poor  part  in  life,  -when 
I  no  longer  run  in  the  overgrown  paths  that 
lead  to  the  unattainable,  when  I  am  through 
amusing  humanity  with  my  conceits  and  my 
sorrows,  I  will  go  there  where  my  mother, 
who  has  gone  before  me,  is,  and  she  will 
receive  me ;  and  the  smile  of  serenity  that 
she  now  wears  in  my  memory  will  have 
become  one  of  triumphant  realization. 

True,  I  see  that  distant  region  only  dimly, 
and  it  has  no  more  substance  than  a  pale 
gray  vision  ;  my  -words,  however  intangible 
and  elusive,  give  too  definite  a  form  to  my 


Ube  Ston?  of  a  Cbilfc,          23 

dreamy  conceptions.  But  still  (I  speak  as 
a  little  child,  with  the  child's  faith),  but  still 
I  always  think  of  my  mother  as  having, 
in  that  far  off  place,  preserved  her  earthly 
aspect.  I  think  of  her  with  her  dear  white 
curls  and  the  straight  lines  of  her  beautiful 
profile  that  the  years  may  have  impaired  a 
little,  but  which  I  still  find  perfect.  The 
thought  that  the  face  of  my  mother  shall 
one  day  disappear  from  my  eyes  forever, 
that  it  is  no  more  than  combined  elements 
subject  to  disintegration,  and  that  she  will 
be  lost  in  the  universal  abyss  of  nothing- 
ness, not  only  makes  my  heart  bleed,  but  it 
causes  me  to  revolt  as  at  something  un- 
thinkable and  monstrous  ;  it  cannot  be  !  I 
have  the  feeling  that  there  is  about  her 
something  which  death  cannot  touch. 

My  love  for  my  mother  (the  only  change- 
less love  of  my  life)  is  so  free  from  all 
material  feeling  that  that  alone  gives  me  an 
inexplicable  hope,  almost  gives  me  a  confi- 
dence in  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 

I  cannot  very  well  understand  why  the 
vision  of  my  mother  near  my  bed  of  sickness 
should  that  morning  have  impressed  me  so 
vividly,  for  she  was  nearly  always  with  me. 
It  all  seems  very  mysterious ;  it  is  as  if  at 
that  particular  moment  she  was  for  the  first 
time  revealed  to  me. 


24          ttbe  Stors  of  a 

And  why  among  the  treasured  playthings 
of  my  childhood  has  the  tiny  watering-pot 
taken  on  the  value  and  sacred  dignity  of  a 
relic  ?  So  much  so  indeed  that  when  I  am 
far  distant  on  the  ocean,  in  hours  of  danger, 
I  think  of  it  with  tenderness,  and  see  it  in 
the  place  where  it  has  lain  for  years,  in  the 
little  bureau,  never  opened,  mixed  in  with 
broken  toys  ;  and  should  it  disappear  I  would 
feel  as  if  I  had  lost  an  amulet  that  could  not 
be  replaced. 

And  the  simple  shawl  of  lilac  barege, 
found  recently  among  some  old  clothing  laid 
aside  to  be  given  to  the  poor,  why  have  I 
put  it  away  as  carefully  as  if  it  were  a  price- 
less object?  Because  in  its  color  (now 
faded),  in  its  quaint  Indian  pattern  and  tiny 
bouquets  of  violets,  I  still  find  an  emanation 
from  my  mother ;  I  believe  that  I  borrow 
therefrom  a  holy  calm  and  sweet  confidence 
that  is  almost  a  faith.  And  mingled  in  with 
the  other  feelings  there  is  perhaps  a  melan- 
choly regret  for  those  May  mornings  of  long 
ago  that  seemed  so  much  brighter  than  are 
those  of  to-day. 

Truly  I  fear  this  book,  the  most  personal 
I  have  ever  written,  will  weary  many. 

In  transcribing  these  memories  in  the 
calm  of  middle  life,  so  favorable  to  reverie,  I 
had  constantly  present  in  my  thought  the 


Ube  Store  of  a  CbiR>.          25 

lovely  queen  to  whom  I  would  dedicate  this 
book ;  it  is  as  if  I  were  writing  her  a  long 
letter  with  the  full  assurance  of  being  under- 
stood in  all  those  sacred  matters  to  which 
words  give  but  an  inadequate  expression. 

Perhaps  you  will  understand  also,  my 
dear  unknown  readers,  who  with  kindly 
sympathy  have  folio-wed  me  thus  far ;  and  all 
those  who  cherish,  or  who  have  been  cher- 
ished by  their  mothers  will  not  smile  at  the 
childish  things  written  down  here. 

But  this  chapter  will  certainly  seem  ridicu- 
lous to  those  who  are  strangers  to  an  all 
absorbing  love,  they  will  not  be  able  to 
imagine  that  I  have  a  deep  pity  to  exchange 
for  their  cynical  smiles. 


26  Sbe  Stors  ot  a 


CHAPTER   VI. 

BEFORE  I  finish  writing  of  the  confused 
memories  I  have  of  the  commencement 
of  my  life  I  wish  to  speak  of  another  ray  of 
sunshine  —  a  sad  ray  this  time,  —  that  has 
left  an  ineffaceable  impression  upon  me,  and 
the  meaning  of  which  will  never  be  clear 
to  me. 

Upon  a  Sunday,  after  we  had  returned 
from  church,  the  ray  appeared  to  me.  It 
came  through  a  half-open  window  and  fell 
into  the  stairway,  and  as  it  lengthened  itself 
upon  the  whiteness  of  the  wall  it  took  on 
a  peculiar,  weird  shape. 

I  had  returned  from  church  with  my 
mother,  and  as  I  mounted  the  stairs  I  took 
her  hand.  The  house  was  filled  with  a 
humming  silence  peculiar  to  the  noontime  of 
very  hot  summer  days  (it  was  August  or 
September).  Following  the  habit  of  our 
country  the  shutters  were  half  closed  mak- 
ing indoors,  during  the  heated  period  of  the 
day,  a  sort  of  twilight. 

As  I  entered  the  house  there  came  to  me 
an  appreciation  of  the  stillness  of  Sunday 


Ube  Stors  of  a  CbUfc.          27 

that  in  the  country  and  in  peaceful  byways 
of  little  towns  is  like  the  peace  of  death. 
But  when  I  saw  the  ray  of  sunlight  fall 
obliquely  through  the  staircase  window,  I 
had  a  feeling  more  poignant  than  ordinary 
sorrow ;  I  had  a  feeling  altogether  incom- 
prehensible and  absolutely  new  in  which 
there  seemed  infused  a  conception  of  the 
brevity  of  life's  summers,  their  rapid  flight, 
and  the  incomputable  ages  of  the  sun.  But 
other  elements  still  more  mysterious,  that 
it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  explain 
even  vaguely,  entered  therein. 

I  wish  to  add  to  the  history  of  this  ray 
of  sunshine  the  sequel  that  is  intimately 
connected  with  it.  Years  passed ;  I  became 
a  man,  and  after  having  been  among  many 
people  and  experienced  many  adventures  I 
lived  for  an  autumn  and  winter  in  an  iso- 
lated house  in  an  unfrequented  part  of 
Stamboul.  It  was  there  that  every  even- 
ing at  approximately  the  same  hour,  a  ray 
of  sunlight  came  in  through  the  window  and 
fell  obliquely  on  the  wall  and  lit  up  the 
niche  (hollowed  out  of  the  stone  wall)  in 
w.hich  I  had  placed  an  Athenian  vase.  And 
I  never  saw  that  ray  of  sunlight  without 
thinking  of  the  one  I  had  seen  upon  that 
Sunday  of  long  ago ;  nor  without  having 
the  same,  precisely  the  same  sad  emotion, 


28  ZTbe  Stors  of  a  GbfR>. 

scarcely  diminished  by  time,  and  always 
full  of  the  same  mystery.  And  when  I 
had  to  leave  Turkey,  when  I  was  obliged 
to  quit  my  dangerous  but  adored  lodgings 
in  Stamboul,  with  all  my  busy  and  hurried 
preparations  for  departure  there  was  min- 
gled this  strange  regret :  never  more  should 
I  see  the  oblique  ray  of  sunshine  come 
into  the  stairway  window  and  fall  upon  the 
niche  in  the  wall  where  the  Greek  vase 
stood. 

Perhaps  under  all  of  this  there  may  have 
been,  if  not  recollections  of  a  previous  per- 
sonal experience,  at  least  the  reflected  in- 
choate thoughts  of  ancestors  which  I  am 
unable  in  any  clearer  way  to  bring  out  of 
darkness.  But  enough !  I  must  say  no 
more,  for  I  again  find  myself  in  the  land 
of  vague  fancy,  gliding  phantoms  and  illu- 
sive nothings. 

For  this  almost  unintelligible  chapter 
there  is  no  excuse  that  I  can  offer,  save 
that  I  have  written  it  with  the  greatest 
frankness  and  sincerity. 


TTbc  Stors  of  a  Gbiifc.  29 


CHAPTER   VII. 

AND  I  now  recall  the  impressions  of 
springtime,  all  the  fresh  splendor  of 
May ;  and  I  remember  vividly  the  lonely 
road  called  the  Fountain  road. 

(As  I  am  endeavoring  to  put  my  recol- 
lections into  some  sort  of  order,  I  think  that 
at  this  time  I  must  have  been  about  five 
years  old.) 

I  was  old  enough  at  any  rate  to  take  walks 
with  my  father  and  my  sister,  and  I  went 
out  with  them  this  dewy  morning.  I  was 
in  ecstasy  to  see  that  everything  had  be- 
come so  green,  to  see  the  budding  foliage 
and  the  tasselled  shrubs  and  hedges.  Along 
the  sides  of  the  road  the  grass  was  all  the 
same  length,  and  the  flowers  in  the  grass, 
with  their  exquisite  mingling  of  the  red 
of  the  geranium  and  the  blue  of  the  speed- 
well, made  the  whole  earth  seem  a  great 
bouquet.  As  I  plucked  the  flowers  I  scarcely 
knew  which  way  to  run  ;  in  my  eagerness  I 
trod  upon  them  and  my  legs  became  -wet 
from  the  dew  —  I  marvelled  at  all  the  rich- 
ness at  my  disposal,  and  I  longed  to  take 


30          Ube  Stors  ot  a  Cbilfc. 

great  armfuls  of  the  flowers  and  carry  them 
away  with  me. 

My  sister,  -who  had  gathered  a  sprig  of 
hawthorn,  one  of  iris  and  some  long  sheath- 
like  grasses  leaned  towards  me,  and  took 
my  hand  and  said :  "  You  have  enough  for 
the  present ;  you  see,  dear,  that  we  could 
never  gather  all  of  them." 

But  I  did  not  heed,  so  absolutely  intoxi- 
cated was  I  with  the  magnificence  about 
me,  the  like  of  which  I  did  not  recall  ever 
to  have  seen  before. 

That  was  the  beginning  [of  those  almost 
daily  excursions  that  I  took  with  my  father 
and  sister,  and  that  I  kept  up  for  so  long  a 
time  (almost  to  my  boarding-school  days). 
It  is  through  them  that  I  became  so  well 
acquainted  with  the  surrounding  country, 
and  with  the  varieties  of  flowers  found 
there.  Poor  fields  and  meadows  of  my 
native  country !  So  monotonous,  so  flat, 
one  so  like  another ;  fields  of  hay  and  daisies 
where  in  childhood  I  would  disappear  from 
sight  and  hide  under  the  green  vegetation. 
Fields  of  corn  and  paths  bordered  with 
hawthorn,  I  love  you  all  in  spite  of  your 
monotony  ! 

Toward  the  west,  in  the  far  distance,  my 
eyes  sought  for  a  glimpse  of  the  sea.  Some- 
times when  we  had  gone  a  long  way  there 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbtlfc*  31 

would  appear  upon  the  horizon,  among  the 
other  lines  there,  a  straight  bluish  one ;  it 
was  the  sea ;  and  it  lured  me  to  it  finally 
as  a  great  and  patient  lover  lures,  who  sure 
of  his  power  is  willing  to  wait. 

My  sister  and  my  brother,  of  whom  I 
have  not  spoken  before,  were  considerably 
older  than  I ;  it  seemed  almost  as  if  we 
belonged  to  different  generations.  For  that 
reason  they  petted  me  even  more  than  did 
my  father  and  mother,  my  grandmother  and 
aunts ;  and  as  I  was  the  only  child  among 
them  I  was  cherished  like  a  little  hot-house 
plant,  I  was  too  tenderly  guarded  and  re- 
mained all  too  unacquainted  with  thorns 
and  brambles. 


32  ttbe  Stors  of  a  <XbiU>. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

OOMEONE  has  advanced  the  theory  that 
v3  those  persons  endowed  with  a  gift  for 
painting  (either  with  color  or  with  words) 
probably  belong  to  a  half-blind  species  ;  ac- 
customed to  living  in  a  partial  light,  in  a 
sort  of  misty  grayness,  they  turn  their  gaze 
inward ;  and  when  by  chance  they  do  look 
out  their  impressions  are  ten  times  more 
vivid  than  are  those  of  ordinary  people. 

To  me  that  seems  a  little  paradoxical. 

But  it  is  true  that  sometimes  an  envelop- 
ing darkness  aids  one  to  clearer  vision ;  as  in 
a  panaroma  building,  for  example,  where  the 
obscurity  about  the  entrance  prepares  one 
better  for  the  climax,  and  gives  the  scene 
depicted  a  more  real  and  vivid  appearance. 

In  the  course  of  my  life  I  would  without 
doubt  have  been  less  impressed  by  the  ever 
shifting  phantasmagoria  of  existence  had  I 
not  begun  my  journey  in  a  place  almost 
without  distinctive  color,  in  a  tranquil  cor- 
ner of  the  most  commonplace  little  town, 
receiving  an  education  austerely  pious ;  and 
where  my  longest  journey  was  bounded  by 


ttbe  Story  of  a  Gbil&.          33 

the  forests  of  Limoise  (as  -wonderful  to  me 
as  a  primeval  forest)  and  by  the  shores  of 
the  island  of  Oleron,  that  seemed  very  im- 
mense when  I  went  to  it  to  visit  my  aged 
aunts. 

But  after  all  is  said,  it  was  in  the  yard 
about  our  house  that  I  passed  the  happiest 
of  my  summers  —  it  seemed  to  me  that  that 
was  my  particular  kingdom,  and  I  adored  it. 

It  was  in  truth  a  beautiful  yard,  much 
more  sunny  and  airy  than  the  majority  of 
city  gardens.  Its  long  avenue  of  green  and 
flowery  branches,  that  overtopped  the  heads 
of  the  neighboring  fruit  trees,  was  bordered 
on  the  south  by  a  low  and  ancient  wall  over 
•which  grew  roses  and  honeysuckles.  The 
long,  leafy  avenue  gave  the  impression  of 
great  depth,  and  its  perspective  melted  into 
a  bower  of  vines  and  jasmine  bushes  that 
in  turn  became  a  great  verdant  place,  which 
came  to  an  end  at  a  storehouse  of  ancient 
construction,  whose  gray  stones  were  hid- 
den under  ivy  vines. 

Ah !  how  I  loved  that  garden,  and  how 
much  I  still  love  it ! 

I  believe  the  keenest,  earliest  memories 
are  of  the  beautiful,  long,  summer  evenings. 
Oh !  the  return  from  a  walk  during  those 
long,  clear  twilights  that  certainly  were 
more  delicious  than  are  those  of  to-day. 


34          Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbilfc. 

What  joy  to  re-enter  that  yard  which  the 
thorn-apples  and  the  honeysuckles  filled 
with  the  sweetest  odor,  to  enter  and  see 
from  the  gate  all  the  long  avenue  of  tangled 
greenness.  Through  an  opening  in  a  bower 
of  Virginia  Creeper  I  could  see  the  rosy 
splendor  of  the  setting  sun ;  and  somewhat 
removed  in  the  gathering  shadows  of  the 
foliage,  there  were  distinguishable  three  or 
four  persons.  The  persons,  it  is  true,  were 
very  quiet,  and  they  were  dressed  in  black, 
but  they  were  nevertheless  very  reassuring 
to  me,  very  familiar  and  very  much  beloved  : 
they  were  the  forms  of  mother,  grandmother 
and  aunts.  Then  I  -would  run  to  them 
hastily  and  throw  myself  upon  their  laps, 
and  that  was  always  one  of  the  happiest 
moments  of  my  day. 


Ube  Story  of  a  Cbilfc.  35 


CHAPTER   IX. 

IN  the  month  of  March,  as  the  shadows  of 
twilight  gathered,  two  little  children 
•were  seated  very  close  together  upon  a  low 
footstool  —  two  little  ones,  between  the  ages 
of  five  and  six,  dressed  in  short  trousers 
with  white  pinafores  over  them,  as  was  the 
fashion  of  the  time.  After  having  played 
wildly  they  were  now  quietly  amusing 
themselves  with  paper  and  pencils.  The 
dim  light  seemed  to  fill  them  with  a  vague 
fear,  and  it  troubled  their  spirits. 

Of  the  two  children  only  one  was  drawing 
—  it  was  I.  The  other,  a  friend  invited  over 
for  the  day,  an  exceptional  thing,  was  watch- 
ing me  with  great  attention.  With  some 
difficulty  (trusting  me  meantime)  he  fol- 
lowed the  fantastic  movements  of  my  pencil, 
whose  intention  I  took  care  to  explain  to 
him  at  some  length.  And  my  oral  inter- 
pretation was  necessary,  for  I  was  busy 
executing  two  drawings  that  I  entitled  re- 
spectively, The  Happy  Goose  and  The  Un- 
happy Goose. 

The  room  in  which  we  were  seated  must 


36  Ube  Stors  ot  a  Cbflfc, 

have  been  furnished  about  the  year  1805,  at 
the  time  of  the  marriage  of  my  now-very-old 
grandmother,  who  still  occupied  it,  and  who 
this  evening  was  seated  in  a  chair  of  the 
Directory  period  ;  she  was  singing  to  her- 
self and  she  took  no  notice  of  us. 

My  memories  of  my  grandmother  are  in- 
distinct for  her  death  occurred  shortly  after 
this  time ;  but  as  I  will  never  again,  in  the 
course  of  this  recital,  have  a  more  vivid 
impression  of  her,  I  will  here  insert  what 
I  know  of  her  history. 

It  seems  that  in  the  stress  of  all  sorts  of 
troubles  she  had  been  a  brave  and  noble 
mother.  After  reverses  that  were  so  gen- 
eral in  those  days,  after  losing  her  husband 
at  the  Battle  of  Trafalgar,  and  her  elder  son 
at  the  shipwreck  of  the  Medusa,  she  went 
resolutely  to  -work  to  educate  her  younger 
son,  my  father,  until  such  time  as  he  should 
be  able  to  support  himself.  At  about  her 
eightieth  year  (which  was  not  far  distant 
when  I  came  into  the  world)  the  senility 
of  second  childhood  had  set  in ;  at  that 
time  I  knew  nothing  about  the  tragedy  of 
the  loss  of  memory,  and  I  could  not  realize 
the  vacancy  of  her  mind  and  soul. 

She  would  often  stand  for  a  long  time 
before  a  mirror  and  talk  in  a  most  amiable 
way  to  her  own  reflection,  which  she  called, 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc.  37 

"my  good  neighbor"  or  "my  dear  reigh- 
bor."  It  was  also  her  mania  to  sing  with 
a  most  excessive  ardor  the  Marseillaise,  the 
Parisiennes,  the  Song  of  Farewell,  and  all 
the  noble  songs  of  the  transition  time,  which 
had  been  the  rage  in  her  young  woman- 
hood. 

During  these  exciting  times  she  had  lived 
quietly,  and  had  occupied  herself  entirely 
with  her  household  cares  and  her  son's  edu- 
cation. For  that  reason  it  seems  the  more 
singular  that  from  her  disordered  mind,  just 
about  as  it  was  to  take  its  journey  into  com- 
plete darkness  and  to  become  disintegrated 
through  death,  there  should  come  this  tardy 
echo  of  that  tempestuous  time. 

I  enjoyed  listening  to  her  very  much  and 
often  I  would  laugh,  but  without  any  irrev- 
erence, and  I  never  was  the  least  afraid  of 
her.  She  was  extremely  lovely  and  had 
delicate  and  regular  features,  and  her  ex- 
pression was  very  sweet.  Her  abundant 
hair  was  silver-gray,  and  upon  her  cheeks 
there  was  a  color  similar  to  that  of  a  faded 
rose  leaf,  a  color  which  the  old  people  of 
that  generation  often  retained  into  extreme 
old  age.  I  remember  that  she  usually  wore 
a  red  cashmere  shawl  about  her  shoulders, 
and  that  she  always  had  on  an  old-fash- 
ioned cap  trimmed  with  green  ribbons. 


38  Ube  Stors  of  a 

There  was  something  very  modest  and 
gen'.le  and  pleasing  about  her  still-graceful 
little  body. 

Her  room,  where  I  liked  to  come  to  play 
because  it  was  so  large  and  sunny,  was 
furnished  as  simply  as  a  Presbyterian  par- 
sonage :  the  "waxed  "walnut  furniture  "was 
of  the  Directory  period,  the  large  bed  had  a 
canopy  of  thick,  red,  cotton  stuff  and  the 
walls  "were  painted  an  ochre  yellow;  and 
upon  them  in  gilt  frames,  slightly  tarnished, 
were  hung  water  colors  representing  vases 
of  flowers.  I  very  soon  discovered  that  this 
room  was  furnished  in  a  very  simple  and 
old-fashioned  way,  and  I  thought  to  myself 
that  the  good  old  grandmother  who  sang 
so  constantly  must  be  much  poorer  than 
my  other  grandmother,  who  was  younger 
by  twenty  years,  and  who  always  dressed 
in  black  —  which  last  matter  seemed  an 
elegant  distinction  to  me. 

But  to  return  to  my  drawings  !  I  think 
that  the  pictures  of  those  two  ducks,  occu- 
pying such  different  stations  in  life,  were 
the  first  I  ever  drew. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  picture  called  The 
Happy  Duck  I  had  drawn  a  tiny  house,  and 
near  the  duck  himself  there  was  a  large, 
kind  woman  who  was  calling  him  to  her  so 
that  she  might  give  him  food. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbfl&          39 

The  Unhappy  Duck,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  swimming  about  solitary  and  alone  on 
a  sort  of  hazy  sea,  which  I  had  represented 
by  drawing  two  or  three  straight  lines,  and 
in  the  distance  one  could  see  the  outline  of 
a  gloomy  shore.  The  thin  paper,  a  leaf  torn 
from  a  book,  had  print  on  the  reverse  side, 
and  the  letters  showed  through  in  grayish 
flecks,  and  gave  the  curious  impression  as 
of  clouds  in  the  sky.  And  that  little  draw- 
ing, with  less  form  than  a  schoolboy's 
blackboard  scrawl,  was  completely  trans- 
figured by  those  gray  spots,  and  because  of 
them  it  took  on  for  me  a  deep  and  dreadful 
significance.  Aided  by  the  dim  light  in  the 
room,  the  pictured  scene  became  a  vision 
that  faded  away  into  the  distance  like  the 
pale  surface  of  the  sea.  I  was  terrified  at 
my  own  work ;  I  was  astonished  to  find 
in  it  the  things  that  I  had  not  put  there ; 
to  discover  in  it  those  things  which  else- 
where had  given  me  such  a  well  remem- 
bered anguish. 

"Oh!"  I  said  with  exaltation  to  my 
young  companion,  who  did  not  understand 
anything  of  what  was  going  forward,  "Oh!" 
I  exclaimed  with  a  voice  full  of  emotion, 
"you  may  see  it ;  I  cannot  bear  to  look  at 
it!"  I  covered  the  picture  with  my  hands, 
but  nevertheless  I  peeped  at  it  very  often; 


40  Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

and  it  was  so  vividly  impressed  upon  my 
mind  that  I  can  still  recall  it  as  it  appeared 
to  me  transfigured :  a  gleam  of  light  lay 
upon  the  horizon  of  that  sea  so  awkwardly 
represented,  the  heavens  appeared  to  be 
filled  with  rain,  and  it  seemed  to  be  a  dreary 
winter  evening  in  which  there  was  a  fierce 
wind  blowing. 

The  Unhappy  Duck,  solitary,  far  away 
from  his  family  and  friends,  was  making 
his  way  toward  the  foggy  shore  over  which 
there  hung  an  air  of  extreme  sadness  and 
desolation.  And  certainly  for  one  fleeting 
moment  I  had  a  prescience  of  those  heart- 
aches that  I  was  to  know  later  in  the  course 
of  my  sailor  life.  I  seemed  to  have  a  pre- 
sentiment of  those  stormy  December  even- 
ings when  my  boat  was  to  enter,  to  take 
shelter  until  the  morning,  one  of  those  un- 
inhabited bays  upon  the  coast  of  Brittany; 
more  particularly  I  had  a  prescience  of 
those  twilights  of  the  Antarctic  winter 
when,  in  about  the  latitude  of  Magellan, 
we  were  to  go,  in  search  of  protection 
towards  those  sterile  shores  that  are  as 
inhospitable  and  as  absolutely  deserted  as 
the  waters  surrounding  them. 

The  vision  faded,  and  I  once  more  found 
myself  in  my  grandmother's  large  room  en- 
veloped in  the  shadows  of  evening.  My 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbiifc*  41 

grandmother  was  singing,  and  I  was  again 
a  tiny  being  who  had  seen  nothing  of  the 
large  world,  who  had  fears  without  know- 
ing wherefore,  and  who  did  not  even  know 
the  cause  of  the  tears  that  he  shed. 

Since  then  I  have  often  observed  that  the 
rudimentary  scrawls  made  by  children,  and 
which  as  representations  are  incorrect  and 
inadequate,  impress  them  much  more  than 
do  the  able  and  correct  drawing  of  adults. 
For  although  theirs  are  incomplete,  they 
add  to  them  a  thousand  things  of  their  own 
seeing  and  imagining ;  and  they  add  to  them 
also  the  thousand  things  that  grow  in  the 
deep  subsoil  of  their  consciousness  —  the 
things  which  no  brush  would  be  able  to 
paint. 


42          Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbtlfc, 


CHAPTER    X. 

UPON  the  second  floor,  above  the  room 
occupied  by  my  poor  old  grandmother, 
who  sang  the  Marseillaise  so  constantly,  in 
that  part  of  the  house  overlooking  the  yard 
and  the  gardens,  lived  my  grand-aunt  Bertha. 

From  her  windows,  across  the  houses 
and  the  walls  covered  with  roses  and  jas- 
mine, one  could  see  the  ramparts  of  the 
town.  They  were  so  near  to  us  that  their 
old  trees  were  visible ;  and  beyond  them 
lay  those  great  plains  of  our  country  called 
prees  (prairies)  all  so  alike,  and  as  monot- 
onous as  the  neighboring  sea.  From  the 
window  one  also  saw  the  river.  At  full 
tide,  when  it  almost  overflowed  its  banks, 
it  looked,  as  it  wound  along  through  the 
green  meadows,  like  silver  lace  ;  and  the 
large  and  small  boats  that  passed  in  the  far 
distance  mounted  upon  this  silver  thread 
toward  the  harbor,  and  from  there  sailed 
out  into  the  great  sea. 

As  this  was  our  only  glimpse  of  real 
country  the  windows  in  my  aunt  Bertha's 
room  had  always  a  great  attraction  for  me. 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Gbfib.  43 

Especially  had  they  in  the  evening  at  sun- 
set, for  from  them  I  could  watch  the  sun 
sink  mysteriously  behind  the  prairies.  Oh  ! 
those  sunsets  that  I  saw  from  my  aunt 
Bertha's  windows,  what  ecstasy  overcast 
with  melancholy  they  awakened  in  me ! 
The  winter  sunsets  seen  through  the  closed 
windows  were  a  pale  rose  color.  Those  of 
summer  time,  upon  stormy  evenings,  after 
a  hot,  bright  day,  I  contemplated  from  the 
open  window,  and  as  I  did  so  I  would 
breathe  in  the  sweet  odors  given  out  by 
the  jasmine  blossoms  growing  on  the  wall : 
it  seems  to  me  that  there  are  no  such  sun- 
sets now  as  there  were  then.  When  the 
sunsets  were  notably  splendid  and  unusual, 
if  I  was  not  in  the  room,  aunt  Bertha,  who 
never  missed  one,  would  call  out  hastily : 
"Dearie!  dearie!  come  quickly!"  From 
any  corner  of  the  house  I  heard  that  call 
and  understood  it,  and  I  went  swift  as  a 
hurricane  and  mounted  the  stairs  four  steps 
at  a  time.  I  mounted  the  more  rapidly,  be- 
cause the  stairway  had  already  begun  to 
fill  with  dread  shadows ;  and  in  the  turn- 
ings and  corners  I  saw  the  imaginary  forms 
of  ghosts  and  monsters  that  at  nightfall 
always  pursued  me  as  I  ran  up  the  stairs. 
My  aunt  Bertha's  room,  with  its  simple, 
white  muslin  curtains,  was  as  modest  as 


44          Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbilfc. 

my  grandmother's.  The  walls,  covered 
•with  an  old-fashioned  paper  in  vogue  at  the 
commencement  of  the  century,  were  orna- 
mented with  water  colors  similar  to  those 
in  my  grandmother's  room.  The  picture  that 
I  looked  at  most  often  was  a  pastel  after 
Raphael  of  a  virgin  in  white,  blue  and  rose 
color.  The  rays  of  the  setting  sun  always 
fell  upon  this  picture  (I  have  already  said 
the  hour  of  sunset  was  the  time  I  preferred 
most  to  be  in  this  room).  This  virgin  was 
very  much  like  my  aunt  Bertha ;  in  spite 
of  the  great  difference  in  their  ages,  one 
was  struck  -with  the  resemblance  between 
the  straight  lines  and  regularity  of  their 
profiles. 

On  this  same  floor,  but  upon  the  street 
side,  lived  my  other  grandmother  (the  one 
who  always  dressed  in  black)  and  her  daugh- 
ter, my  aunt  Claire,  the  person  in  the  house 
who  petted  me  most. 

Upon  winter  evenings,  after  I  had  been 
to  my  aunt  Bertha's  room  to  see  the  sunset, 
it  was  my  custom  to  go  to  them.  I  usually 
found  them  together  in  my  grandmother's 
room,  and  I  would  seat  myself  near  the  fire 
in  a  little  chair  placed  there  forme.  But  the 
twilight  hour  spent  with  them  was  always  a 
disturbing  one.  .  .  .  After  all  the  amuse- 
ments, all  the  day's  running  and  playing,  to 


Stors  of  a  Gbilfc.  45 

sit  in  the  dusk  almost  motionless  upon  my 
tiny  chair,  with  eyes  wide  open,  uneasily 
watching  for  the  least  change  in  the  shad- 
ows, especially  on  that  side  of  the  room 
where  the  door  opened  on  to  the  dim  stair- 
way, "was  very  painful  to  me.  ...  I  am  sure 
that  if  my  grandmother  and  aunt  had  known 
of  the  melancholy  and  terrors  which  the 
twilight  induced  in  me,  they  would  have 
spared  me  them  by  lighting  the  lamp,  but 
they  did  not  know  my  sufferings  ;  and  it  was 
the  custom  of  the  aged  persons  by  whom  I 
was  surrounded,  to  sit  tranquilly  at  nightfall 
in  their  accustomed  places  without  having 
need  for  a  lighted  lamp.  As  it  grew  darker 
one  or  the  other,  grandmother  or  aunt, 
would  draw  her  chair  closer  to  me,  and 
when  I  had  that  protection  about  me  I  felt 
completely  happy  and  reassured  and  would 
say :  "  Please  tell  me  stories  about  the 
Island." 

The  Island,  that  is  the  Island  of  Oleron, 
was  my  mother's  native  place,  my  grand- 
mother's and  aunt's  also,  which  they  had 
quitted  twenty  years  before  my  birth  to 
establish  themselves  upon  the  main  land. 
The  Island,  or  the  least  thing  that  cam& 
from  it,  had  a  singular  charm  for  me. 

It  was  quite  near  us,  for  from  a  garrer 
window  at  the  top  of  the  house  we  could, 


46  Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc, 

upon  very  clear  days,  see  the  extreme  end 
of  its  extensive  plain  ;  it  appeared  a  little 
bluish  line  against  a  still  paler  one  which 
•was  the  arm  of  the  ocean  separating  us 
from  it.  ...  To  get  to  it  we  had  to  take  a 
long  journey  in  wretched  country  wagons 
and  in  sailing  boats  ;  and  often  our  boat  had 
to  make  its  way  there  in  the  teeth  of  a  strong 
gale.  At  this  time  in  the  village  of  St.  Pierre 
Oleron,  I  had  three  old  aunts  who  lived  very 
modestly  upon  the  revenues  of  their  salt 
marshes  (the  remains  of  a  once  great  inherit- 
ance), and  their  annual  rents  which  the 
peasants  still  paid  with  sacks  of  wheat.  .  .  . 
When  I  went  to  visit  them  at  St.  Pierre 
there  was  for  me  a  certain  joy,  mingled  with 
many  kinds  of  conflicting  emotions,  which  I 
cannot  explain,  in  trying  to  picture  to  my- 
self their  once  great  station. 

The  Huguenot  austerity  of  their  manners, 
their  mode  of  life,  their  house  and  their 
furniture  all  belonged  to  a  past  time,  to  a  by- 
gone generation.  The  sea  surrounded  and 
isolated  us,  and  the  wind  constantly  swept 
over  the  moorland,  and  over  the  great 
stretches  of  sandy  beach. 

My  nurse  was  also  from  the  Island,  of  a 
Huguenot  family,  which  descending  from 
father  to  son  had  been  with  us  for  a  long 
time ;  and  she  would  say :  "  At  home,  on  the 


Ube  Stors  of  a  GbU&.  47 

Island,"  in  such  a  way,  that  with  a  wave  of 
emotion,  I  understood  her  great  homesick- 
ness for  it. 

We  had  about  us  a  number  of  little  articles 
that  had  come  from  there,  and  which  had 
places  of  honor  in  our  home.  We  had  some 
black  pebbles  large  as  cannon-balls,  that  had 
been  chosen  from  the  thousands  lying  on  the 
Long-beach,  because  centuries  of  washing 
had  polished  and  rounded  them  exquisitely. 
These  pebbles  always  played  an  important 
part  every  winter  evening,  for  with  the 
greatest  regularity  the  old  people  -would  put 
them  into  the  chimney-place  where  a  wood 
fire  blazed  and  crackled ;  afterwards  they 
slipped  them  into  calico  bags  of  a  flowered 
pattern,  also  brought  from  the  Island,  and 
took  them  to  bed,  where  they  served  to  keep 
their  feet  warm  during  the  night. 

In  our  cellar  we  had  wooden  props  and 
firkins,  and  also  a  number  of  straight,  elm- 
poles  for  holding  the  washing,  which  had 
been  cut  from  the  choicest  young  trees  in 
my  grandmother's  forest.  I  had  the  great- 
est veneration  for  all  these  things.  I  knew 
that  my  grandmother  no  longer  owned  the 
forests,  nor  the  salt  marshes,  nor  the  vine- 
yards ;  for  I  had  heard  them  say  that  she 
had  sold  them  one  at  a  time  to  put  the 
money  into  investments  upon  the  mainland  ; 


48  ZTbe  Stors  of  a  Gbflb. 

and  that  an  incompetent  notary  by  his  bad 
investments  had  greatly  reduced  her  income. 

When  I  -went  to  the  Island,  and  the  old 
salt-makers  and  vine-dressers,  who  had  at 
one  time  worked  for  our  family,  still  loyal 
and  respectful,  called  me  "  our  little  master," 
I  knew  they  did  so  out  of  pure  politeness, 
and  altogether  in  deference  to  our  past 
grandeur. 

I  regretted  that  I  could  not  spend  my  life 
in  tending  the  vineyards  and  the  harvests, 
the  occupations  of  several  of  my  ancestors. 
Such  a  life  seemed  a  much  more  desirable 
one  to  me  than  my  own  which  was  passed 
in  a  house  in  town. 

The  stories  of  the  Island  that  my  grand- 
mother and  aunt  Claire  related  to  me  were 
generally  of  the  happenings  of  their  own 
childhood,  a  childhood  that  seemed  so  very 
far  away  that  to  me  it  had  no  more  reality 
than  a  dream. 

There  were  stories  of  grandfathers,  long 
dead ;  of  great-uncles  whom  I  had  never 
known,  dead  also  for  many  years.  When 
my  aunt  told  me  their  names  and  described 
them  to  me  I  would  abandon  myself  to 
reverie.  There  was  in  particular  a  grand- 
father Samuel  who  had  preached  at  the  time 
of  the  religious  persecution,  whom  I  thought 
an  extraordinarily  interesting  person. 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc,  49 

I  did  not  care  whether  the  stories  -were 
different  or  not,  and  I  would  ask  for  the 
same  ones  over  and  over.  Often  they  told 
me  stories  of  journeys  they  had  taken  on  the 
little  donkeys  that  played  such  an  important 
part  in  the  lives  of  the  people  of  St.  Pierre. 
They  would  ride  upon  them  to  visit  distant 
properties  and  vineyards  ;  to  get  to  these  it 
was  often  necessary  to  travel  along  the  sands 
of  the  Long-beach,  and  sometimes  of  an 
evening,  during  these  expeditions,  terrible 
storms  would  burst  upon  the  travellers  and 
compel  them  to  take  shelter  for  the  night  in 
the  inns  and  farmhouses. 

And  as  I  sat  in  the  darkness  that  no  longer 
had  terrors  for  me,  my  imagination  busy 
with  the  things  and  peoples  of  other  days, 
tinkle,  tinkle  would  go  the  dinner  bell ;  then 
I  rose  and  jumped  for  joy,  and  we  would  go 
down  to  the  dining-room  together  and  find 
all  the  family  gathered  there  in  the  bright, 
gay  room  :  then  I  would  run  to  my  mother, 
and  in  an  excess  of  emotion  hide  my  face  in 
her  dress. 


50          trbe  Stors  of  a  CbfU>, 


CHAPTER   XI. 

ASPARD  was  a  little  crop-eared  dog  who 
VJ  was  saved  from  absolute  homeliness  by 
the  vivacious  and  kindly  expression  of  his 
eyes.  I  do  not  now  recall  how  he  came  to 
domesticate  himself  with  us,  but  I  do  know 
that  I  loved  him  very  tenderly. 

One  winter  afternoon,  when  he  and  I  were 
out  for  a  walk,  he  ran  away  from  me.  I  con- 
soled myself,  however,  by  saying  that  he 
would  certainly  return  to  the  house  alone, 
and  I  went  home  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind. 
But  when  night  came  and  he  was  still  absent 
I  grew  very  heavy  of  heart. 

My  parents  had  at  dinner  that  evening  an  ac- 
complished violinist,  and  they  had  given  me 
permission  to  remain  up  later  than  usual  so 
that  I  might  hear  him  play.  The  first  sweep 
of  his  bow  which  preluded,  I  know  not  what, 
slow  and  desolate  movement,  sounded  to  me 
like  an  invocation  to  those  dark,  woodland 
paths  in  which,  in  the  deeps  of  night,  one 
feels  that  he  is  lost  and  abandoned ;  as  the 
musician  played  I  had  a  vision  of  Gaspard 
mistaking  his  way  at  the  cross-roads  be- 


Ube  Stot£  of  a  emit).  51 

cause  of  the  rain,  and  I  saw  him  take  an 
unfamiliar  path  that  led  forever  away  from 
friends  and  home.  Then  my  tears  began  to 
flow,  but  no  one  perceived  them ;  and  as  I 
wept,  the  violin  continued  to  fill  the  silence 
with  its  sad  wailing,  and  it  seemed  to  get  a 
response  from  bottomless  abysses  inhabited 
by  phantoms  to  which  I  could  give  neither  a 
form  nor  name. 

That  was  my  introduction  to  reverie  awak- 
ing music,  and  years  passed  before  I  again 
experienced  such  sensations,  for  the  little 
piano  pieces  that  I  began  to  play  for  myself 
soon  after  this  (in  a  remarkable  -way  for  a 
child  of  my  age  they  said)  sounded  to  me 
only  like  sweet,  rhythmical  noise. 


52  Ube  Stors  of  a  CbUfc. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

I  WISH  now  to  speak  of  the  anguish  caused 
by  a  story  that  was  read  to  me.  (I  sel- 
dom read  for  myself,  and  in  fact  I  disliked 
books  very  much.) 

A  very  disobedient  little  boy  who  had  run 
away  from  his  family  and  his  native  land, 
years  later,  after  the  death  of  his  parents 
and  his  sister,  returned  alone  to  visit  his 
parental  home.  This  took  place  in  Novem- 
ber, and  naturally  the  author  described  the 
dull  gray  sky,  and  spoke  of  the  bleak  wind 
that  blew  the  few  remaining  leaves  from 
the  trees. 

In  a  deserted  garden,  in  an  arbor  stripped 
of  all  its  green,  the  prodigal  son  in  stooping 
down,  found  among  the  autumn  leaves  a 
bluish  bead  that  had  lain  there  since  the 
time  he  had  played  in  the  bower  with  his 
sister. 

Oh !  at  that  point  I  begged  them  to  cease 
reading,  for  I  felt  the  sobs  coming.  I  could 
see,  see  vividly,  that  solitary  garden,  that 
leafless,  old  arbor,  and  half-hidden  under  the 
reddish  leaves,  I  saw  that  blue  bead,  souvenir 


Stors  of  a  Gbflfc*          53 


of  the  dead  sister.  ...  It  depressed 
dreadfully,  and  gave  me  a  conception  of  that 
inevitable  fading  away  of  every  thing  and 
every  one,  —  of  the  great  universal  change 
that  comes  to  all. 

It  is  strange  that  my  tenderly  guarded 
infancy  should  have  been  so  full  of  sad 
emotions  and  morbid  reflections. 

I  am  sure  that  the  sad  days  and  happen- 
ings were  rare,  and  that  I  lived  the  joyous 
and  careless  life  of  other  children  ;  but  just 
because  the  happy  days  were  so  habitual 
to  me  they  made  no  impression  upon  my 
mind,  and  I  can  no  longer  recall  them 

My  memories  of  the  summer  time  are  so 
similar  that  they  break  with  the  splendor 
of  the  sun  into  the  dark  places  and  things 
of  my  mind. 

And  always  the  great  heat,  the  deep  blue 
skies,  the  sparkling  sand  of  the  beach,  and 
the  flood  of  light  upon  the  white,  lime,  walls 
of  the  cottages  of  the  little  villages  upon  the 
"  Island,"  induced  in  me  a  melancholy  and 
sleepiness  which  I  afterwards  experienced 
with  even  greater  intensity  in  the  land  of  the 
Turk. 


54          Ube  Storg  of  a  Gbilb, 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"  A  ND  at  midnight  there  was  a  cry  made : 

*\  Behold,  the  Bridegroom  cometh ;  go 
ye  out  to  meet  him.  .  .  .  And  they  that 
•were  ready  went  in  with  him  to  the  mar- 
riage ;  and  the  door  was  shut.  Afterward 
came  also  the  other  virgins,  saying,  Lord, 
Lord,  open  to  us. 

"  But  he  answered  and  said,  Verily,  I  say 
unto  you,  I  know  you  not. 

"  Watch  therefore,  for  ye  know  neither 
the  day  nor  the  hour  wherein  the  Son  of 
man  cometh." 

After  reading  these  verses  in  a  loud  voice, 
my  father  closed  the  Bible ;  in  the  room 
where  we  were  assembled  there  was  a 
sound  of  chairs  being  moved,  and  we  all 
went  down  upon  our  knees  to  pray.  Follow- 
ing the  usage  in  old  Huguenot  families,  it 
•was  our  custom  to  have  prayers  just  before 
retiring  to  our  rooms  for  the  night. 

"  And  the  door  was  shut.  ..."  Although 
I  still  knelt  I  no  longer  heard  the  prayer,  for 
the  foolish  virgins  appeared  to  me.  They 
were  enveloped  in  white  veils  that  bil- 


Stors  ot  a  Gbilfc,  55 

lowed  about  them  as  they  stood  before  the 
door,  holding  in  their  hands  the  little  lamps 
•whose  flickering  flames  were  so  soon  to  be 
extinguished,  leaving  them  in  the  gloom 
without,  before  that  closed  door,  closed 
against  them  irrevocably  and  forever!  .  .  . 
And  a  time  could  come  then  when  it  would 
be  too  late  ;  when  the  Saviour  weary  of  our 
trespassing  would  no  longer  listen  to  our 
supplications !  I  had  never  thought  that 
that  was  possible.  And  a  fear  more  ter- 
rifying and  awful  than  any  I  had  ever  known 
before,  completely  overwhelmed  me  at  the 
thought  of  eternal  damnation.  .  .  . 

For  a  long  time,  for  many  weeks  and 
months,  the  parable  of  the  foolish  virgins 
haunted  me.  And  every  evening,  when 
darkness  came,  I  would  repeat  to  myself 
the  words  that  sounded  so  beautiful  and 
yet  so  dismaying :  "  Watch  therefore,  for 
ye  know  neither  the  day  nor  the  hour  wherein 
the  Son  of  man  cometh."  If  he  should 
come  to-night,  was  ever  my  thought,  I 
would  be  awakened  by  a  noise  as  of  the 
sound  of  rushing  waters,  by  the  blare  of 
the  trumpet  of  the  angel  of  the  Lord  an- 
nouncing the  terrifying  approach  of  the  end 
the  world.  And  I  could  never  go  to  sleep 
until  I  had  said  a  long  prayer  in  which  I 


56  TTbe  Stors  of  a 

commended  myself  to  the  mercy  of  my 
Saviour. 

I  do  not  believe  there  -was  ever  a  little 
child  who  had  a  more  sensitive  conscience 
than  I ;  about  every  thing  I  was  so  morbidly 
scrupulous  that  I  was  often  misunderstood 
by  those  who  loved  me  best,  a  thing  that 
caused  me  the  most  poignant  heartaches. 
I  remember  having  been  tormented  for  days 
merely  because  in  relating  something  I  had 
not  reported  it  precisely  as  it  had  happened. 
And  to  such  a  point  did  I  carry  my  squeam- 
ishness  of  conscience  that  when  I  had  fin- 
ished with  my  recital  or  statement  I  would 
murmur  in  a  low  voice,  in  the  tone  of  one 
who  tells  over  his  beads,  these  words : 
"  After  all,  perhaps  I  do  not  remember  just 
exactly  how  it  was."  When  I  think  of  the 
thousand  remorses  and  fears  which  my 
trifling  wrong-doings  caused  me,  and  which 
from  my  sixth  to  my  eighth  year  cast  a 
gloom  over  my  childhood,  I  feel  a  sort  of 
retrospective  depression. 

At  that  period  if  any  one  asked  me  what 
I  hoped  to  be  in  the  future,  when  a  man, 
•without  hesitation  I  would  answer:  "  I 
expect  to  be  a  minister,"  —  and  to  me  the 
religious  vocation  seemed  the  very  grandest 
one.  And  those  about  me  would  smile,  and 
without  doubt  they  thought,  inasmuch  as 


TTfoe  Stors  of  a  Gbilb.  57 

I  too  wished  it,  that  it  was  the  best  career 
for  me. 

In  the  evening,  especially  at  night,  I  medi- 
tated constantly  of  that  hereafter,  which  to 
pronounce  the  name  of  filled  me  with  ter- 
ror :  eternity.  And  my  departure  from  this 
earth,  —  this  earth  which  I  had  scarcely 
seen,  of  which  I  had  seen  no  more  than  the 
tiniest  and  most  colorless  corner  —  seemed 
to  me  a  thing  very  near  at  hand.  With  a 
blending  of  impatience  and  mortal  fear,  I 
thought  of  myself  as  soon  to  be  clothed  in 
a  resplendent,  white  robe,  as  soon  to  be 
seated  in  a  great  splendor  of  light  among 
the  multitude  of  angels  and  chosen  ones 
around. the  throne  of  the  Blessed  Lamb;  I 
saw  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  great  moving 
orb  that,  to  the  sound  of  music,  oscillated 
slowly  and  continuously  in  the  infinite  void 
of  heaven. 


58          Ube  Stors  ot  a  Cbilb. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

upon  a  time  a  little  girl  when  she 
opened  a  large  fruit  that  had  come 
from  the  colonies,  a  big  creature  came  out  of 
it,  a  green  creature,  and  it  bit  her  and  that 
made  her  die." 

It  was  my  little  friend  Antoinette  (she  was 
six  and  I  seven)  who  was  telling  me  the 
story,  which  had  been  suggested  to  her  be- 
cause we  were  about  to  break  and  divide  an 
apricot  between  us.  We  were  at  the  ex- 
treme end  of  her  garden  in  the  lovely  month 
of  June,  under  a  branching  apricot  tree.  We 
sat  very  close  together  upon  the  same  stool, 
in  a  house  about  as  big  as  a  bee-hive,  which 
we  had  built  for  our  exclusive  use  out  of  old 
planks.  Our  dwelling  was  covered  with 
pieces  of  foreign  matting  that  had  come  from 
the  Antilles  packed  about  some  boxes  of  cof- 
fee. The  sunbeams  pierced  the  roof,  which 
was  of  a  coarse  straw-colored  material, 
and  the  warm  breeze  that  stirred  the  leaves 
of  the  trees  about  us,  made  the  sunlight 
dance  as  it  fell  upon  our  faces  and  aprons. 
(During  at  least  two  summers  it  had  been 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc*          59 

our  favorite  amusement  to  build,  in  isolated 
nooks,  houses  like  the  one  described  in 
Robinson  Crusoe,  and  thus  hidden  away  we 
would  sit  together  and  chat.)  In  the  story 
of  the  little  girl  who  was  bitten  by  the  big 
creature  this  phrase,  "  a  very  large  fruit  from 
the  colonies,"  had  suddenly  plunged  me  into 
a  reverie.  And  I  had  a  vision  of  trees,  of 
strange  fruits,  and  of  forests  filled  with  mar- 
velously  colored  birds.  Ah !  how  much 
those  magical  but  disturbing  words,  "  the 
colonies  "  conveyed  to  me  in  my  childhood. 
To  me  they  meant  at  that  time  all  tropical 
and  distant  countries,  which  I  invariably 
thought  of  as  filled  with  giant  palms,  exqui- 
site flowers,  strange  black  people  and  great 
animals.  Although  my  ideas  were  so  con- 
fused I  had  an  almost  true  conception, 
amounting  to  an  intuition,  of  their  mournful 
splendor  and  their  enervating  melancholy. 

I  think  that  I  saw  a  palm  for  the  first  time 
in  an  illustrated  book  called  the  "  Young 
Naturalists,"  by  Madame  Ulliac-Trema- 
deure  ;  the  book  was  one  of  my  New  Year's 
gifts,  and  I  read  some  parts  of  it  upon  New 
Year's  evening.  (Green-house  palms  had 
not  at  that  time  been  brought  to  our  little 
town.) 

The  illustrator  had  placed  two  of  these 
unfamiliar  trees  at  the  edge  of  a  sea-shore 


60          Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbilfc, 

along  which  negroes  were  passing.  Recently, 
I  was  curious  enough  to  hunt  in  the  little 
yellow,  faded  book  for  that  picture,  and  truly 
I  wonder  how  that  illustration  had  the 
power  to  create  the  very  least  of  my  dreams 
unless  it  were  that  my  immature  mind  was 
already  leavened  by  the  memory  of  mem- 
ories. 

"  The  colonies  !  "  Ah  !  how  can  I  give  an 
adequate  idea  of  all  that  awoke  in  my  mind 
at  the  sound  of  these  words  ?  A  fruit  from 
there,  a  bird  or  a  shell,  had  instantly  the 
greatest  charm  for  me. 

There  were  a  number  of  things  from  the 
tropics  in  little  Antoinette's  home  :  a  parrot, 
birds  of  many  colors  in  a  cage,  and  collec- 
tions of  shells  and  insects.  In  one  of  her 
mamma's  bureau  drawers  I  had  seen  quaint 
necklaces  of  fragrant  berries ;  in  the  garret, 
where  we  sometimes  rummaged,  we  found 
skins  of  animals,  and  peculiar  bags  and  cases 
upon  which  could  still  be  made  out  the 
names  of  towns  in  the  Antilles ;  and  a  faint 
tropical  odor  scented  the  entire  house. 

Antoinette's  garden,  as  I  have  said,  was 
separated  from  ours  by  a  very  low  wall, 
overgrown  with  roses  and  jasmine.  And  the 
century-old  pomegranate  tree  growing  there 
spread  its  branches  into  our  yard,  and  at  the 
blooming  season  its  coral-red  petals  were 
scattered  upon  our  grass. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc,  61 

Often  we  spoke  from  one  house  to  the 
other : 

"Can  I  come  over  and  play  with  you?" 
I  would  ask.  "  Will  your  mamma  allow 
me?" 

"  No,  because  I  have  been  naughty  and  I 
am  being  punished."  (That  happened  very 
often).  —  Such  an  answer  always  grieved 
me  a  great  deal ;  but  I  must  confess  that  it 
was  more  on  account  of  my  disappointment 
over  the  parrot  and  the  tropical  things  than 
because  of  her  punishment. 

Little  Antoinette  had  been  born  in  the 
colonies,  but,  curiously  enough,  she  never 
seemed  to  value  that  fact,  and  they  had 
very  little  charm  for  her,  indeed  she  scarcely 
remembered  them.  I  would  have  given 
every  thing  I  possessed  in  the  world  to 
have  seen,  if  only  for  the  briefest  time,  one 
of  those  distant  countries,  inaccessible  to 
me,  as  I  well  knew. 

With  a  regret  that  was  almost  anguish  I 
thought,  alas !  that  in  my  life  as  minister, 
live  as  long  as  I  might,  I  would  never,  never 
see  those  enchanting  lands. 


62          Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbiifc. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

I  WILL  now  describe  a  game  that  gave 
Antoinette  and  me  the  greatest  pleasure 
during  those  two  delicious  summers. 

We  pretended  to  be  two  caterpillars,  and 
we  would  creep  along  the  ground  upon  our 
stomachs  and  our  knees,  and  hunt  for  leaves 
to  eat.  After  having  done  that  for  some  time 
we  played  that  we  were  very,  very  sleepy, 
and  we  would  lie  down  in  a  corner  under  the 
trees  and  cover  our  heads  with  our  white 
aprons  —  we  had  become  cocoons.  We  re- 
mained in  this  condition  for  some  time,  and 
so  thoroughly  did  we  enter  into  the  role  of 
insects  in  a  state  of  metamorphosis,  that  any 
one  listening  would  have  heard  pass  between 
us,  in  a  tone  of  the  utmost  seriousness,  con- 
versations of  this  nature  : 

"  Do  you  think  that  you  will  soon  be  able 
to  fly?" 

"  Oh  yes  !  I'll  be  flying  very  soon  ;  I  feel 
them  growing  in  my  shoulders  now  .  .  . 
they'll  soon  unfold."  (They,  naturally  re- 
ferred to  wings.) 

Finally  we  would  wake   up,  stretch  our- 


tlbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc,  63 

selves,  and  without  saying  any  thing,  we  con- 
veyed by  our  manner  our  astonishment  at  the 
great  transformation  in  our  condition.  .  .  . 

Then  suddenly  we  began  to  run  lightly 
and  very  nimbly  in  our  tiny  shoes ;  in  our 
hands  we  held  the  corners  of  our  pinafores 
which,  we  waved  as  if  they  were  wings ;  we 
ran  and  ran,  and  chased  each  other,  and  flew 
about  making  sharp  and  fantastic  curves  as  we 
went.  "We  hastened  from  flower  to  flower 
and  smelled  all  of  them,  and  we  continually 
imitated  the  restlessness  of  giddy  moths  ;  we 
imagined,  too,  that  we  were  imitating  their 
buzzing  when  we  exclaimed  :  "  Hou  ou  ou  !  " 
a  noise  we  made  by  filling  the  cheeks  with 
air  and  puffing  it  out  quickly  through  the 
half-closed  mouth. 


64          Ube  Stors  of  a 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE  butterflies,  the  poor  butterflies  that 
have  gone  out  of  fashion  in  these  days, 
played,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  a  large  part 
in  my  life  during  my  childhood,  as  did  also 
the  flies,  beetles  and  lady-bugs,  and  all  the 
insects  that  are  found  upon  flowers  and  in 
the  grass.  Although  it  gave  me  a  great  deal 
of  pain  to  kill  them,  I  was  making  a  collec- 
tion of  them,  and  I  was  almost  always  seen 
with  a  butterfly  net  in  my  hand.  Those  fly- 
ing about  in  our  yard,  that  had  strayed  our 
way  from  the  country,  were  not  very  beau- 
tiful it  must  be  confessed,  but  I  had  the 
garden  and  woods  of  Limoise,  which  all 
the  summer  long  was  a  hunting-ground  ever 
full  of  surprises  and  wonders. 

But  the  caricatures  by  Topffer  upon  this 
subject  made  me  thoughtful;  and  when 
Lucette  one  day  caught  me  with  several 
butterflies  in  my  hat,  and  in  her  incom- 
parably mocking  voice  called  me,  "  Mr. 
Cryptogam,"  I  was  much  humiliated. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  GbW>,  65 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE  poor  old  grandmother  who  sang  so 
constantly  was  dying. 

We  were  all  standing  about  her  bed  at 
nightfall  one  spring  evening.  She  had  been 
ailing  scarcely  more  than  forty-eight  hours  ; 
but  the  doctor  said  that  on  account  of  her 
great  age  she  could  not  rally,  and  he  pro- 
nounced her  end  to  be  very  near. 

Her  mind  had  become  clear ;  she  no  longer 
mistook  our  names,  and  in  a  sweet  calm 
voice  she  begged  us  to  remain  near  her  — 
it  was  doubtless  the  voice  of  other  days, 
the  one  that  I  had  never  heard  before. 

As  I  stood  close  to  my  father's  side  I 
turned  my  eyes  from  my  dying  grandmother, 
and  they  wandered  about  the  room  with  its 
old-fashioned  furniture.  I  looked  especially 
at  the  pictures  of  bouquets  in  vases  that 
hung  upon  the  wall.  Oh !  those  poor  little 
water  colors  in  my  grandmother's  room,  how 
ingenuous  they  were  !  They  all  bore  this  in- 
scription :  "  A  Bouquet  for  my  mother,"  and 
under  this  there  was  a  little  verse  of  four 
lines  dedicated  to  her,  which  I  could  now 


66  Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 

read  and  understand.  These  works  of  art 
had  been  painted  by  my  father  in  his  early 
boyhood,  and  he  had  presented  them  to  his 
mother  upon  each  joyful  anniversary.  The 
poor,  unpretentious  little  pictures  bore  testi- 
mony to  the  humble  life  of  those  early  days, 
and  they  spoke  of  the  sacred  intimacy  of 
mother  and  son,  —  they  had  been  painted 
during  the  time  which  followed  those  great 
ordeals,  the  wars,  the  English  invasion,  and 
the  burning  over  of  the  country  by  the 
enemy.  For  the  first  time  I  realized  that 
my  grandmother  too  had  been  young ;  that, 
without  doubt,  before  the  trouble  with  her 
head,  my  father  had  loved  her  as  I  loved 
my  mamma,  and  I  felt  that  he  would  sor- 
row greatly  when  he  lost  her;  I  felt  sorry 
for  him  and  I  was  also  full  of  remorse  be- 
cause I  had  laughed  at  her  singing,  and  had 
been  amused  when  she  spoke  to  her  image 
reflected  in  the  looking-glass. 

They  sent  me  down  stairs.  On  different 
pretexts,  the  reason  for  which  I  did  not 
understand,  they  kept  me  away  from  the 
room  until  the  day  was  over ;  then  they  took 

me  to  the  house  of  our  friends,  the  D s, 

where  I  was  to  have  dinner  with  Lucette. 

When,  at  about  half  past  eight,  I  returned 
home  with  my  nurse,  I  insisted  upon  going 
straight  to  my  grandmother's  room. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbilfc.  67 

When  I  entered,  I  was  struck  with  the 
order  and  the  air  of  profound  peace  that 
pervaded  the  room.  My  father  was  sitting 
motionless  at  the  head  of  the  bed  —  he  was 
in  the  shadow,  the  open  curtains  were 
draped  with  great  precision,  and  on  the 
pillow,  just  in  its  middle,  was  the  head  of 
my  sleeping  grandmother ;  her  whole  posi- 
tion had  about  it  something  very  regular  — 
something  that  suggested  eternal  rest. 

My  mother  and  sister  were  seated  beside 
a  chiffonier  near  the  door,  from  which  place 
they  had  kept  watch  over  my  grandmother 
during  her  illness.  As  soon  as  I  entered 
they  signalled  to  me  with  their  hands  as  if 
to  say :  "  Softly,  softly,  make  no  noise ;  she 
is  asleep."  The  shade  of  their  lamp  threw 
a  vivid  light  upon  the  material  they  were 
busied  with,  a  number  of  little  silk  squares, 
brown,  yellow,  gray,  etc.,  that  I  recognized 
as  pieces  of  their  old  dresses  and  hat 
ribbons. 

At  first  I  thought  that  they  were  working 
upon  things  which  it  is  customary  to  pre- 
pare for  people  about  to  die ;  but  when  I,  in 
a  very  low  voice,  and  with  some  uneasiness, 
questioned  them  about  it,  they  explained  that 
they  were  making  sachets  which  were  to  be 
sold  for  charity. 

I  said  that  I  wished  to  bid   grandmother 


68  Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 

good  night  before  retiring,  and  they  allowed 
me  to  go  towards  the  bed;  but  before  I 
reached  the  middle  of  the  room  they,  after 
glancing  quickly  at  each  other,  changed  their 
minds. 

"  No,  no,"  they  said  in  a  very  low  voice, 
"  come  back,  you  might  disturb  her." 

But  before  they  spoke  I  came  to  a  halt 
of  myself,  I  was  overwhelmed  with  ter- 
ror—  I  understood. 

Although  fear  kept  me  fixed  to  the  spot, 
I  noted  with  astonishment  that  my  grand- 
mother was  not  at  all  disagreeable  to  look 
at ;  I  had  never  before  seen  a  dead  person, 
and  I  had  imagined  until  then,  that  when 
the  spirit  took  its  departure  all  that  re- 
mained was  a  grinning,  hideous  skeleton. 
On  the  contrary  my  grandmother  had  upon 
her  face  an  extremely  sweet  and  tranquil 
smile ;  she  was  as  beautiful  as  ever,  and 
her  face  appeared  to  be  rejuvenated  and 
filled  with  a  holy  peace. 

Then  there  passed  through  my  mind  one 
of  those  sad  flashes  which  sometimes  come 
to  little  children,  and  permit  them  to  see  for 
a  moment  into  hidden  depths,  and  I  reflected: 
"  How  can  grandmother  be  in  heaven,  how 
am  I  to  understand  this  division  of  the 
one  body  into  two  parts,  for  that  which  was 
left  for  interment,  was  it  not  my  grand- 


Stors  of  a  <rbiU>.  69 

mother  herself,  ah !  was  it  not  she  even  to 
the  very  expression  that  she  bore  in  life  ?  " 

After  that  I  stole  away  with  a  bruised 
heart  and  downcast  spirit,  not  daring  to 
ask  a  question  of  any  one,  fearful  lest 
what  I  had  so  unerringly  divined  would 
be  confirmed,  I  did  not  wish  to  hear  the 
dread  and  terrible  word  pronounced.  .  .  . 

For  a  long  time  thereafter  little,  silken, 
sachet  bags  were  always  associated  in  my 
mind  with  the  idea  of  death. 


70  ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflb. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

I  STILL  have  in  my  memory,  almost  ago- 
nizing impressions  of  a  serious  illness 
•which  I  had  when  I  was  about  eight  years 
old.  Those  about  me  called  it  scarlet  fever, 
and  its  very  name  seems  to  have  a  diabolical 
quality. 

I  had  the  fever  in  March,  which  was  cold 
and  blustering  and  dreary  that  year,  and 
every  evening  as  night  fell,  if  by  chance  my 
mother  was  not  near  me,  a  great  sadness 
would  overwhelm  my  soul.  (It  was  an 
oppression  coming  on  at  twilight,  from 
which  animals,  and  beings  with  a  tempera- 
ment like  mine,  suffer  almost  equally.) 

My  curtains  were  kept  open,  and  I  always 
had  a  view  of  the  pathetic-looking  little  table 
with  its  cups  of  gruel,  and  bottles  of  medi- 
cines. And  as  I  gazed  at  these  things,  so 
suggestive  of  sickness,  they  took  on  strange 
shapes  in  the  darkness  of  the  silent  room,  — 
and  at  such  times  there  passed  through  my 
head  a  procession  of  grotesque,  hideous  and 
alarming  images. 

Upon   two   successive   evenings    at    dusk 


ttbe  Storp  of  a  Cbilb.  71 

there  appeared  to  me,  in  the  half  delirium  of 
fever,  two  persons  who  caused  me  the  most 
extreme  terror. 

The  first  one  was  an  old  woman,  hump- 
backed and  very  ugly,  but  with  a  fascinating 
ugliness,  who  without  my  hearing  her  open 
the  door,  without  my  seeing  any  one  rise  to 
meet  her,  stole  noiselessly  to  my  side.  She 
departed,  however,  without  speaking  to  me ; 
but  as  she  turned  to  go  her  hump  became 
visible,  and  I  saw  that  there  was  an  opening 
in  it,  and  there  popped  out  from  this  hole  the 
green  head  of  a  parrot,  which  the  old  woman 
carried  in  her  hump.  This  creature  called 
out,  "  Cuckoo,"  in  a  thin,  squeaking,  far- 
away voice,  and  then  withdrew  again  into 
the  frightful  old  hag's  hump.  Oh  !  when  I 
heard  that  "  Cuckoo !"  a  cold  perspiration 
formed  on  my  forehead ;  but  suddenly  the 
woman  disappeared,  and  then  I  realized  that 
it  was  only  a  dream. 

The  next  evening  a  tall,  thin  man,  clothed 
in  the  black  dress  of  a  minister,  appeared  to 
me.  He  did  not  come  near  me,  but  kept 
close  to  the  wall  and  whirled,  with  body  all 
bent  over,  rapidly  and  noiselessly  about  the 
room.  His  miserable,  thin  legs  and  the 
gown  of  his  dress  stood  out  stiff  and  straight 
as  he  turned  quickly.  And  —  most  horrible 
of  all  —  he  had  for  a  head  the  skull  of  a  large 


72          ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilb* 

•white  bird  -with  a  long  beak,  which  was  a 
monstrous  exaggeration  of  a  sea-mew's  skull, 
bleached  by  the  sun  and  wind  and  waves, 
that  I  had  the  previous  summer  found  upon 
the  beach  at  the  Island.  (  I  believe  this  old 
man's  visit  coincided  with  the  time  when 
I  was  worst,  almost  in  danger.)  After  he 
Had  made  one  or  two  revolutions  about  the 
room,  he  quickly  and  silently  began  to 
rise  from  the  floor.  Ever  moving  his  thin 
legs  he  reached  the  cornice,  then  higher 
and  higher  still  he  rose,  above  the  pictures 
and  the  looking-glasses,  until  he  was  lost 
to  sight  in  the  twilight  shadows  that  lay 
near  the  ceiling. 

And  for  two  or  three  years  after  this 
event,  the  faces  of  those  visions  haunted 
me.  On  winter  evenings  I  thought  of  them 
with  a  shudder  as  I  mounted  the  stairway, 
which  at  that  period  it  was  not  customary 
to  light.  "  If  they  should  be  there,"  I  would 
say  to  myself;  "  suppose  one  of  them  is 
lying  in  wait  to  pursue  me ;  suppose  they 
should  come  behind  me,  and  stretch  out 
their  hands  and  try  to  catch  me  by  the 
legs." 

And  truly  I  will  not  be  sure  that  I  would 
not  now  feel,  should  I  encourage  myself, 
some  of  the  old-time  fear  which  that  woman 
and  man  inspired  in  me ;  they  were  for 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilt>,  73 

some  time  at  the  head  of  the  list  of  my 
childhood  terrors,  and  for  very  long  they  led 
the  procession  of  visions  and  bad  dreams. 

Many  gloomy  apparitions  haunted  the  first 
years  of  my  life,  which  otherwise  were  so 
uncommonly  sweet.  I  was  especially  ad- 
dicted to  indulging  in  sad  reflections  at 
nightfall ;  I  had  impressions  of  nights  with- 
out end,  premonitions  of  my  career  being 
cut  short  by  an  early  death.  Too  carefully 
sheltered  and  protected  at  this  period,  and 
yet  in  some  measure  forced  mentally,  I 
may  be  likened  to  a  flower  that  lacks  color 
and  vitality  because  it  has  been  raised  in  an 
unwholesome  atmosphere.  I  should  have 
been  surrounded  by  hardy,  mischievous, 
noisy  playmates  of  my  own  age  and  sex, 
but  instead  of  that  I  played  only  with  gen- 
tle little  girls.  I  was  always  careful  and 
precise  in  my  manners,  and  my  curled  hair 
and  sedate  bearing  gave  me  the  appearance 
of  a  little,  eighteenth -century  nobleman. 


74  Ube  Story  of  a  Gbilfc. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

AFTER  that  long  fever,  the  very  name  of 
which  has  a  sinister  sound,  I  recall  the 
delight  I  felt  when  they  allowed  me  to  go 
out  into  the  air,  when  I  was  permitted  to 
go  down  into  our  beloved  yard.  The  day 
chosen  for  my  first  airing  was  a  radiantly 
beautiful  and  clear  morning  in  April.  Seated 
under  the  bower  of  jasmine  and  honey- 
suckle, I  felt  as  if  I  were  experiencing  the 
enchantment  of  paradise,  of  another  Eden. 
Every  thing  was  budding  and  blossoming; 
without  my  knowledge,  during  the  time 
that  I  was  confined  to  my  bed,  this  won- 
derful drama  of  the  spring  had  enacted  itself 
upon  the  earth.  I  had  not  often  seen  this 
wonderful  and  magical  renewal  which  has 
delighted  man  through  all  the  ages,  and  to 
which  only  the  very  aged  seem  indifferent ; 
it  ravished  me  and  I  allowed  my  joy  to 
take  possession  of  me  almost  to  the  point 
of  intoxication.  —  Oh!  that  pure,  warm, 
soft  air ;  the  glorious  sunlight,  and  the 
tender,  fresh  green  of  the  young  plants  and 
the  budding  trees  that  already  cast  a  little 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbilb.  75 

shade.  And  in  myself  there  -was  an  un- 
wonted strength  that  bespoke  recovery,  and 
I  rejoiced  mightily  when  I  breathed  in  the 
sweet  air,  and  felt  the  flood  of  new  life. 

My  brother  was  a  tall  fellow  of  twenty- 
one,  who  had  the  freedom  of  the  house  and 
grounds  in  which  to  work  out  any  of  his 
fancies.  During  my  convalescence  I  enter- 
tained myself  greatly  speculating  about 
something  he  was  busy  with  in  the  garden, 
which  something  I  was  dying  of  impatience 
to  see.  At  the  end  of  the  yard,  in  a  lovely 
nook  under  an  old  plum  tree,  my  brother 
was  making  a  tiny  lake ;  he  had  dug  it  out 
and  cemented  it  like  a  cistern,  and  from  the 
country  round  about,  he  procured  stones  and 
quantities  of  moss  with  which  to  make  the 
banks  about  the  lake  romantic  looking;  he 
also  constructed  rocky  elevations  and  grot- 
toes out  of  the  stones  and  mosses. 

And  this  work  was  finished  the  day  that 
I  went  out  for  the  first  time ;  they  had 
even  put  little  gold  fish  into  the  water,  and 
they  turned  on  the  tiny  fountain,  and  it 
played  in  my  honor. 

I  approached  it  with  ecstasy,  and  I  found 
that  it  greatly  surpassed  in  beauty  any  thing 
that  my  imagination  had  been  able  to  con- 
jure up.  And  when  my  brother  told  me  it 
was  mine,  I  felt  a  joy  so  intense  that  it 


76  ZTbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc* 

seemed  to  me  it  must  last  forever.  Oh ! 
what  unexpected  joy  to  possess  it  for  my 
very  own !  And  what  happiness  to  know 
that  I  could  enjoy  it  every  single  day  during 
the  -warm  and  beautiful  months  that  were  to 
come.  And  the  thought  of  being  able  to  live 
out  of  doors  again,  the  prospect  of  playing  in 
every  nook  of  that  lovely  garden,  as  I  had 
done  the  previous  summer,  was  rapture 
to  me. 

I  remained  at  the  edge  of  the  pond  a  long 
time,  looking  at  it  and  admiring  it  unceas- 
ingly, and  I  breathed  in  the  sweet,  mild, 
spring  air,  and  warmed  myself  in  the  radiant 
sunlight  so  long  denied  to  me.  The  old  plum 
tree  above  my  head,  planted  so  long  ago  by 
one  of  my  ancestors,  and  now  almost  at  the 
end  of  its  usefulness,  spread  its  lacy  curtain 
of  new  leaves  to  the  tender  blue  of  the  sky, 
and  the  tiny  fountain  in  its  shade  continued 
its  tuneful  melody,  as  if  it  were  a  little  hurdy- 
gurdy  celebrating  my  return  to  health. 

To-day  that  old  plum  tree  is  dead  and  its 
trunk,  the  only  thing  left  of  it,  and  spared 
out  of  respect,  is  covered,  like  a  ruin,  with 
ivy  vines. 

But  the  pond,  with  its  grottoes  and  islets, 
still  remains  intact ;  time  has  given  it  the 
appearance  of  genuine  nature  herself.  Its 
greenish  stones  look  old  and  decayed;  the 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc,  77 

mosses,  the  delicate  little  plants  brought 
from  the  river,  and  the  rushes  and  wild  iris 
have  acclimated  themselves,  and  dragon  flies 
that  stray  through  the  town  take  refuge  there 
—  a  bit  of  wild  nature  has  established  itself 
in  that  little  corner  and  I  hope  it  will  never 
be  disturbed. 

I  am  more  loyally  attached  to  that  spot 
than  to  any  other,  although  I  have  loved 
many  places ;  in  no  other  one  have  I  found 
so  much  peace  ;  there  I  feel  tranquil,  there 
I  refresh  myself  and  acquire  youth  and  new 
life.  That  little  corner  is  my  sacred  Mecca, 
so  much  indeed  is  it  to  me,  that  should  any 
one  destroy  it  I  would  feel  as  if  some  vital 
thing  in  my  life  had  lost  balance,  would  feel 
that  I  had  missed  my  footing,  or  almost 
imagine  that  it  presaged  the  beginning  of  my 
end. 

The  reverent  feeling  that  I  have  for  the 
place  has  been  born,  I  believe,  from  my  sea- 
faring life,  with  its  long  voyages  to  distant 
places,  and  its  dreary  exiles  during  which  I 
thought  and  dreamed  of  it  constantly. 

There  is  in  particular  one  little  grotto  for 
which  I  have  an  especial  affection :  the 
memory  of  it  has  often,  in  times  of  depres- 
sion and  melancholy,  during  the  years  of 
weary  exile,  heartened  me. 

After   the    angel  Azrael    had    so    cruelly 


78  Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbilt>. 

passed  our  way,  after  reverses  of  many  sorts, 
and  during  that  sad  term  when  I  was  a  wan- 
derer on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  my  wid- 
owed mother  and  my  aunt  Claire  were  left 
alone  in  the  beloved  but  deserted  home  that 
was  almost  as  silent  as  a  tomb,  I  experienced 
many  a  heartache  as  I  thought  of  the  dear 
hearthstone,  and  of  the  things  so  familiar  to 
my  childhood  that  were  doubtless  going  to 
ruin  through  neglect.  I  felt  especially  anxious 
to  know  if  the  storms  of  winter  and  the 
hands  of  time  had  destroyed  the  delicate 
arch  of  that  grotto ;  and  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  if  those  little  moss-covered  rocks  had 
fallen  in,  I  would  have  felt  that  an  almost 
irreparable  breach  had  been  made  in  my 
own  life. 

At  the  side  of  the  pond  there  is  an  old  gray 
wall  which  is  an  integral  part  of  the  corner 
that  I  call  my  Holy  Mecca ;  I  think  it  is 
the  very  centre  of  the  sacred  place,  and  I 
recall  the  tiniest  details  of  it.  I  can  picture 
to  myself  the  scarcely  visible  mosses  that 
grow  there,  and  the  gaps  made  by  time, 
which  the  spiders  now  inhabit.  Growing  up 
at  the  back  of  the  wall  there  is  an  arbor  of 
ivy  and  honeysuckle,  whose  shade  I  sought 
daily  every  beautiful  summer  day  for  the 
purpose  of  studying  my  lessons.  But  I 
lounged  there  lazily,  as  a  school-boy  will, 


Ube  Storp  of  a  Cbiifc,          79 

and  allowed  all  my  attention  to  be  absorbed 
by  those  gray  stones  with  their  teeming  world 
of  insects.  Not  only  do  I  love  and  venerate 
that  old  wall,  as  the  Moslems  love  their 
holiest  mosque,  but  I  regard  it  also  as  some- 
thing which  actually  protects  me ;  as  some- 
thing which  conserves  my  life  and  prolongs 
my  youth.  I  would  not  suffer  any  one  to 
change  it  in  the  least,  and  should  it  be  de- 
molished I  would  feel  as  if  the  very  supports 
under  my  life  were  insecure.  May  it  not  be 
because  certain  things  persist,  and  are  known 
to  us  throughout  our  lives,  that  we  borrow 
from  thence  delusions  in  regard  to  our  own 
stability,  and  our  own  continuance.  Seeing 
that  they  abide  we  suppose  that  we  cannot 
change  nor  cease  to  be. 

Personally  I  cannot  explain  these  senti- 
ments of  mine  in  any  other  way  than  to 
regard  them  as  some  sort  of  fetich  worship. 

And  when  I  consider  that  those  stones  are 
very  like  other  stones,  that  they  have  been 
brought  from  I  know  not  where,  by  whom  I 
care  not,  to  be  built  into  a  wall  by  workmen 
who  lived  and  died  a  century  before  I  was 
even  thought  of,  I  realize  the  childishness  of 
the  illusion,  which  I  indulge  in  spite  of  my- 
self, that  it  can  extend  any  sort  of  spiritual 
protection  to  me  ;  I  comprehend  only  too 
well  what  a  frail  and  unstable  base  has  that 


80  ftbe  Stors  of  a  GbUfc. 

that  symbolizes  for  me  the  permanency  of 
life. 

Those  who  have  never  had  a  permanent 
home,  but  who  have  from  infancy  been 
taken  from  place  to  place,  living  in  lodgings 
meantime,  may  not  be  able  to  appreciate 
these  sentiments. 

But  among  those  who  have  daily  gathered 
about  the  same  hearthstone,  there  are,  I  am 
sure,  many  who,  without  confessing  it,  are 
susceptible  in  varying  degrees  to  impres- 
sions of  this  sort.  And  do  not  such  people 
often,  because  of  an  old  stone  wall,  a  garden 
known  and  loved  since  childhood,  an  old 
terrace  which  has  become  an  indestructible 
part  of  their  memory,  or  an  old  tree  that 
has  not  changed  form  within  their  lives, 
seek  a  warrant  for  their  own  hope  of  im- 
mortality ? 

And  doubtless,  alas!  before  their  birth, 
these  objects  lent  the  same  delusive  coun- 
tenance to  others,  to  those  unknown,  now 
turned  to  dust  and  gone  to  nothingness,  who 
may  not  even  have  been  of  their  blood  and 
race 


Stors  of  a  Cbilfc*  81 


CHAPTER    XX. 

IT  was  about  the  middle  of  the  summer, 
after  my  severe  illness,  that  I  went  to 
the  Island  for  a  long  visit.  I  was  taken 
there  by  my  brother  and  my  sister, — the 
latter  was  like  a  second  mother  to  me. 
After  a  sojourn  of  several  weeks  with  our 
relatives  at  St.  Pierre  Oleron  (my  good  Aunt 
Claire  and  her  two,  old,  unmarried  daugh- 
ters) we  went  alone,  we  three,  to  a  fishing 
village  upon  the  Long-Beach,  which,  at  that 
time,  was  entirely  off  the  line  of  travel. 
The  Long-Beach  is  that  portion  of  the 
Island  commanding  a  view  of  the  ocean 
over  which  the  west  'winds  blow  cease- 
lessly. Upon  this  coast,  which  extends 
without  a  curve,  straight  and  seemingly 
limitless,  with  the  majestic  sweep  of  the 
desert  of  Sahara,  the  waves  roll  and  break 
•with  a  mighty  noise.  Here  there  are  to  be 
seen  many  uneven  waste  spaces ;  it  is  a 
region  of  sand  where  stunted  trees  and 
dwarfish  evergreen  oaks  shelter  themselves 
behind  the  dunes.  A  curious  kind  of  wild 
flower,  a  pink  and  fragrant  carnation,  blooms 


82  Ube  Storp  ot  a  Cbilfc. 

there  profusely  all  summer  long.  Two  or 
three  villages,  composed  of  humble  little 
cottages,  whitewashed  like  the  bungalows  of 
Algeria,  break  the  loneliness  of  this  region. 
These  homes  have  planted  about  them  such 
flowers  as  can  best  resist  the  sea-winds. 
Dark  skinned  fishermen  and  their  families, 
a  hardy,  honest  people,  still  very  primitive 
at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  live  here ; 
even  sea-bathers  had  not  found  their  way 
to  these  shores. 

In  an  old  forgotten  copy-book  where  my 
sister  had  written  down  (in  a  stilted  manner) 
the  impressions  of  that  summer,  I  find  this 
description  of  our  lodgings. 

"  We  dwell  in  the  centre  of  the  village,  in 
the  square,  at  the  Mayor's  house. 

"  This  house  has  two  ells,  which  are  spa- 
cious beyond  measure. 

"  Its  dazzlingwhitewashed  surfaces  sparkle 
in  the  sun  ;  its  window  shutters  are  fastened 
with  large,  iron  hooks  and  painted  a  dark 
green  as  is  the  custom  here.  The  flower 
bed  that  is  planted  in  the  form  of  a  wreath 
all  around  the  house,  grows  vigorously  in  the 
sand.  The  day-lilies,  one  surpassing  the 
other  in  beauty,  open  their  yellow,  pink  and 
red  blossoms,  and  the  mignonette  beds  which 
at  noon-time  are  fully  abloom,  waft  on  the 
air  an  odor  that  is  sweet  as  the  scent  of 
orange  blossoms. 


Stors  of  a  Cbilfc,          S3 


"  Opposite  us  a  little  path  hollowed  out  of 
the  sand  descends  rapidly  to  the  edge  of  the 


My  first  really  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  sea-wrack,  crabs,  sea-nettles,  jelly-fish, 
and  the  thousand  and  one  other  small  crea- 
tures that  inhabit  the  ocean,  dates  from  this 
visit  to  the  Long-Beach. 

And  during  this  same  summer  I  fell  in 
love  for  the  first  time  —  my  beloved  was  a 
little  village  girl.  But  here,  so  that  the  story 
may  be  related  more  accurately,  I  will  allow 
my  sister,  through  the  medium  of  the  old 
copy-book,  to  speak  again  —  I  merely  copy  : 

"  Dozens  of  the  children  (fishermen's  boys 
and  girls),  tanned  and  brown,  and  with  little 
legs  all  bare,  followed  Pierre,  or  audaciously 
hurried  before  him,  and  from  time  to  time 
turned  and  looked  at  him  wonderingly  with 
their  beautiful  dark  eyes.  At  that  time,  a 
little  gentleman  was  a  rare  enough  spec- 
tacle in  that  part  of  the  country  to  be  worth 
the  trouble  of  running  after. 

"  Every  day  Pierre,  accompanied  by  this 
crowd,  would  descend  to  the  beach  by 
means  of  the  little  footpath  scooped  out  of 
the  sand.  There  he  would  run  and  pick  up 
the  shells  that,  upon  that  coast,  are  so  ex- 
quisitely beautiful.  They  are  yellow,  pink, 
purple  and  many  other  bright  colors,  and 


84  Ube  Storp  of  a  Cbilfc. 

they  have  the  most  delicate  and  varied 
forms.  Pierre  admired  them  greatly,  and 
the  little  ones  who  always  followed  him, 
would  silently  offer  him  hands  full. 

"  Veronica  was  the  most  attentive  of  all. 
She  was  about  his  own  age,  perhaps  a  little 
younger,  six  or  seven  years  of  age.  She  had 
a  sweet,  dreamy  little  face,  a  rather  pale 
complexion  and  lovely  gray  eyes.  She  was 
protected  from  the  heat  by  a  large  white 
sunbonnet ;  a  kichenote,  as  they  call  it  in 
that  part  of  the  country,  is  a  very  old  word, 
and  means  a  large  bonnet  made  of  linen  and 
cardboard,  -which  projects  over  the  face  like 
the  head-dress  of  a  nun.  Veronica  -would 
slip  near  Pierre,  take  possession  of  his  hand, 
and  keep  it  in  hers.  Thus  they  -walked  along 
contentedly  -without  saying  a  word.  They 
stopped  from  time  to  time  to  kiss  each 
other.  '  I  wish  to  kiss  you,'  Veronica 
would  say,  and  as  she  did  so  she  embraced 
him  tenderly  with  her  little  arms.  Then 
after  Pierre  had  allowed  her  the  caress,  he 
-would,  in  his  turn,  kiss  her  vehemently  on 
her  pretty,  little,  plump  cheeks.  .  .  . 


"  Little  Veronica  used  to  run  and  seat  her- 
self upon  our  doorstep  as  soon  as  she  was 
up ;  and  there  she  remained  like  a  faithful, 


Stors  of  a  Cbilfc,          85 

loyal  spaniel.  As  soon  as  Pierre  woke  he 
thought  of  her  being  there,  and  he  would 
immediately  get  out  of  bed,  have  himself 
quickly  washed,  and  stand  quietly  to  have 
his  blond  curls  combed  out,  and  then  run 
to  find  his  little  friend.  They  embraced  each 
other  and  prattled  of  the  events  of  the  day 
before ;  sometimes  Veronica,  before  coming 
to  our  house  to  wait  for  Pierre,  made  a  trip 
to  the  seashore,  and  gathered  an  apron  full  of 
the  beautiful  shells  as  a  love  offering  to  her 
sweetheart. 

"  One  day,  at  about  the  end  of  August, 
after  a  long  reverie,  during  which  Pierre  had 
perhaps  weighed  and  considered  the  difficult 
question  of  the  social  difference  between 
them,  he  said  :  *  Veronica  you  and  I  must 
get  married  some  day ;  I  will  ask  permission 
of  my  parents  when  the  time  comes.'  " 

Then  my  sister  speaks  of  our  departure  : 

"  Upon  the  i5th  of  September  it  was  neces- 
sary for  us  to  leave  the  village.  Pierre  had 
made  a  collection  of  shells,  sea-weeds,  star- 
fish and  pebbles ;  he  was  insatiable  and 
wished  to  carry  all  of  them  away  with  him, 
and  with  Veronica's  aid  he  packed  a  great 
many  into  his  boxes. 

"  One  morning  a  large  carriage  arrived  at 
St.  Pierre  to  take  us  away.  The  peace  of  the 
village  was  broken  by  the  noise  of  the  little 


86  Ube  Storp  of  a  Cbilfc. 

bells  and  the  cracking  of  the  driver's  -whip. 
Pierre  with  the  greatest  care  placed  his  own 
packets  into  the  carriage,  and  then  we  three 
quickly  took  our  places.  With  eyes  full  of 
sadness  Pierre  gazed  out  of  the  carriage  win- 
dow towards  the  sandy  path  that  led  down 
to  the  beach  —  and  at  his  little  friend  who 
stood  there  weeping."  .  .  . 

In  conclusion  I  will  copy  word  for  word 
the  reflection  found  at  the  end  of  the  faded 
book,  which  was  written  down  by  my  sister 
during  that  same  summer. 

"  Then,  and  not  for  the  first  time,  I  fell  into 
an  uneasy  reverie  that  had  to  do  with  Pierre, 
and  I  asked  myself:  *  What  will  become  of 
the  little  boy  ?  And  what  will  become  of 
his  little  friend,  whose  figure  we  could  still 
see  outlined  at  the  now  far-distant  end  of  the 
road.  How  much  despair  does  that  little 
heart  feel ;  how  much  anguish  at  being  thus 
abandoned?'" 

"  What  will  become  of  that  boy  ?  "  Alas  ! 
what  indeed!  His  whole  life  was  to  be 
similar  to  that  summer  of  his  childhood.  To 
know  the  sorrow  of  many  farewells ;  to  desire 
to  take  -with  me  a  thousand  trifles  of  no  ap- 
preciable value,  to  hunger  to  have  about  me  a 
world  of  beloved  souvenirs,  —  but  especially 
to  say  good-bye  to  wild,  little  creatures 
(loved  perhaps  just  because  they  were  in- 


TTbc  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc*          87 

genuous  children  of  nature), — these  things 
•were  to  make  up  the  sum  of  my  life. 

The  two  or  three  days'  journey  home 
(broken  into  by  a  visit  to  our  old  aunts) 
seemed  to  me  very  nearly  endless.  My  im- 
patience to  see  and  embrace  mamma  kept 
me  from  sleeping.  I  had  not  seen  her  for 
almost  two  months  !  My  sister  was  the  only 
person  in  the  world  who,  at  that  time,  could 
have  made  such  a  long  separation  from  my 
mamma  endurable  to  me. 

We  reached  the  continent  safely,  and  after 
a  three-hours  ride  in  the  carriage  that  we 
found  awaiting  us  at  the  boat-landing,  we 
passed  through  the  ramparts  of  our  town. 
Ah  !  at  last  I  saw  my  mother ;  I  once  more 
saw  her  dear  face  and  sweet  smile.  —  And 
now  at  this  distant  time,  I  find  that  one  of 
my  clearest  and  most  persistent  memories 
is  her  beloved  and  still  youthful  face  and 
her  beautiful  dark  hair. 

'When  we  arrived  at  the  house  I  ran  to 
visit  my  little  lake  and  its  grottoes,  and  I 
hurried  to  the  arbor  that  grew  against  the 
old  wall.  But  my  eyes  had  become  so  ac- 
customed to  the  immensity  of  the  sandy 
beach  and  the  ocean,  that  all  of  these  things 
appeared  shrunken,  diminished,  walled-in 
and  mean.  The  leaves  were  turning  yellow, 
and  although  it  was  still  warm  there  was  a 


88          Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbiifc. 

promise  of  early  autumn  in  the  air.  With 
fear  and  dread  I  thought  of  the  dull  and  cold 
days  which  would  soon  be  upon  us  ;  and 
when,  -with  a  heavy  heart,  I  began  to  un- 
pack my  boxes  of  seaweed  and  shells,  I 
was  overcome  with  grief  because  I  was  not 
still  upon  the  Island.  I  felt  disquieted  too 
about  Veronica  who  would  have  to  be  there 
without  me  during  the  winter,  and  suddenly 
my  eyes  overflowed  with  tears  at  the  thought 
that  I  might  never  again  hold  her  dear  little 
sun-burned  hand  in  mine. 


Ztbe  Stors  of  a  Cbiit>.  89 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE  time  now  arrived  for  me  to  begin 
regular  lessons,  and  to  write  exercises  in 
copy-books,  which  I  unvariably  smeared 
with  ink  —  ah !  what  gloom  and  dreariness 
suddenly  came  into  my  life ! 

I  remember  that  I  performed  my  tasks 
spiritlessly  and  sulkily,  and  that  my  lessons 
bored  me  inexpressibly.  And  since  I  "wish  to 
be  very  sincere,  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  add 
that  my  teachers  also  were  well-nigh  intol- 
erable to  me. 

Alas !  well  do  I  remember  the  one  who 
first  taught  me  Latin  (rosa,  the  rose ;  cornu, 
the  horn ;  tonitru,  the  thunder.)  This  tutor 
was  very  old  and  bent,  and  as  sad  of  face  as 
a  rainy  November  day.  He  is  dead  now, 
the  poor  old  fellow  —  sweet  peace  to  his 
soul !  He  was  exactly  like  that  "  Mr. 
Ratin "  hit  off  in  caricature  so  neatly  by 
Topffer ;  he  had  all  the  marks,  even  to  the 
wart  with  the  three  hairs,  and  fine  wrinkles 
beyond  number  at  the  end  of  his  old  nose ; 
to  me  his  face  was  the  personification  of  all 
that  was  hideous  and  disgusting. 


90  Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbfifc* 

He  arrived  every  day  precisely  at  noon ; 
and  a  chill  -would  pass  through  me  when  I 
heard  his  knock,  which  I  would  have  recog-. 
nized  among  a  thousand. 

Always  after  his  departure,  I  attempted  to 
purify  that  part  of  my  table  where  his  elbow 
had  rested,  by  rubbing  it  hard  with  the  nap- 
kin which  I  had  taken  clandestinely  from 
the  linen-closet.  And  the  repulsion  extended 
itself  to  the  very  books,  already  unattractive 
enough  to  me,  which  he  touched  ;  I  even  tore 
certain  leaves  out  of  them  because  I  sus- 
pected that  he  had  handled  them  a  great  deal. 

My  books  were  always  full  of  ink  blots, 
always  stained  and  covered  with  smeared 
sketches  and  pictures,  which  one  draws  idly 
when  his  attention  wanders  from  his  task. 
I  who  was  usually  so  careful  and  proper  a 
child,  had  such  a  detestation  for  the  books 
which  I  was  obliged  to  learn  from,  that  I 
abused  them  in  the  commonest  fashion ; 
altogether  I  was  a  miserable  pupil.  I  found 
—  and  this  is  the  astonishing  part — that  all 
my  scruples  of  conscience  deserted  me  when 
my  teacher  questioned  me  in  regard  to  the 
time  I  had  spent  upon  my  lessons  (I  usually 
studied  them  in  a  mad  hurry  at  the  last 
moment)  ;  my  aversion  for  study  was  the 
first  thing  that  caused  me  to  temporize 
with  my  conscience. 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbfto.  91 

In  spite,  however,  of  a  pricking  conscience, 
I  still  continued  to  give  only  a  passing  glance 
at  my  lessons  at  the  very  last  moment.  But 
generally  "  Mr.  Ratin  "  -would  write  "  good  " 
or  "very  good"  upon  the  paper  which  it 
was  my  duty  each  evening  to  show  to  my 
father. 

I  believe  that  if  he,  or  the  other  professors 
•who  succeeded  him,  could  have  suspected 
the  truth,  could  have  guessed  that  out  of 
their  presence  my  mind  did  not  dwell  for 
more  than  five  minutes  a  day  upon  what 
they  had  taught  me,  their  honest  heads 
would  have  split  with  indignation. 


92  Ube  Stors  ot  a  Cbflfc. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

DURING  the  course  of  the  winter  which 
followed  my  visit  to  the  Long-Beach  a 
great  change  took  place  in  our  family — my 
brother  departed  for  his  first  campaign. 

He  was,  as  I  have  said,  about  fourteen 
years  older  than  I.  I  had  had  very  little 
time  to  become  acquainted  with  him,  to 
attach  myself  to  him,  for  his  preparation 
for  his  vocation  made  it  necessary  for  him 
to  be  away  from  home  a  great  deal.  I 
scarcely  ever  went  into  his  room  where, 
scattered  upon  the  table,  there  was  an  ap- 
palling number  of  large  books.  This  room 
was  pervaded  with  the  strong  odor  of  to- 
bacco ;  and  I  dared  not  go  near  it  for  fear 
that  I  would  meet  his  comrades,  young  offi- 
cers, or  students  like  himself.  I  had  heard, 
also,  that  he  was  not  always  well-behaved, 
that  sometimes  he  did  not  come  in  until 
very  late  at  night,  and  that  often  my  father 
had  found  it  necessary  to  give  him  a  serious 
talking  to;  secretly  I  greatly  disapproved 
of  his  conduct. 

But   his  approaching   departure  strength- 


Ube  Stors  of  a  CbfR>.  93 

ened  my  affection,  and  caused  me  extreme 
sorrow. 

He  was  going  to  Polynesia,  to  Tahiti, 
almost  to  the  end  of  the  world,  and  he  ex- 
pected to  be  away  four  years.  To  me  that 
seemed  an  almost  endless  absence,  for  it 
represented  half  of  my  own  age. 

I  watched,  with  the  greatest  interest,  the 
preparations  that  he  made  for  his  voyage. 
The  iron-bound  trunks  were  packed  with 
care.  He  wrapped  the  gilt-embroidered 
uniform  and  his  sword  in  a  quantity  of  tis- 
sue paper,  and  put  them  away  with  the  same 
care  one  bestows  upon  a  mummy  when  it 
is  relaid  in  its  metal  case.  All  of  these 
things  augmented  the  impression  that  I 
had  of  the  distance  and  dangers  of  the 
long  voyage  about  to  be  undertaken  by  my 
brother. 

A  sort  of  melancholy  rested  upon  every 
one  in  the  house,  which  became  deeper  and 
more  and  more  noticeable  as  the  day  for 
the  separation  drew  near.  At  our  meals 
we  were  more  silent ;  advice  from  my  father 
and  assurances  from  my  brother  was  the 
substance  of  most  of  the  conversations, 
and  I  listened  meditatively  without  saying 
a  word. 

The  day  before  my  brother  left  he  con- 
fided to  my  care  —  and  I  was  greatly  hon- 


94  TTbe  Stors  of  a 

ored  to  have  him  do  so  —  the  many  fragile 
little  things  that  he  had  upon  his  mantel- 
piece ;  these  he  bade  me  guard  faithfully 
until  his  return. 

He  then  made  me  a  present  of  a  handsome 
gilt  edged,  illustrated  book  entitled,  "  A  Voy- 
age in  Polynesia."  It  was  the  only  book 
that  in  my  early  childhood  I  had  an  affection 
for,  and  I  constantly  turned  its  pages  with 
eager  pleasure.  In  the  front  of  it  there  was 
an  engraving  of  a  very  pretty  dark  woman 
who,  crowned  with  reeds,  was  sitting  grace- 
fully under  a  palm  tree.  Under  this  picture 
was  printed :  "  Portrait  of  her  Majesty, 
Pomare  IV.,  Queen  of  Tahiti."  Further 
over  in  the  book  there  was  a  picture  of  two 
beautiful  maidens,  with  naked  shoulders  and 
crowned  heads,  standing  at  the  edge  of  the 
sea,  and  this  was  entitled :  "  Two  Young 
Tahitian  Girls  upon  the  Beach." 

Upon  the  day  of  my  brother's  departure, 
at  the  last  hour,  the  preparations  being  over, 
and  the  large  trunks  closed  and  locked,  we 
gathered  in  the  parlor  as  solemnly  as  if  -we 
had  come  together  for  a  funeral.  A  chapter 
of  the  Bible  was  read  and  then  we  had  family 
prayers.  .  .  .  Four  years  !  and  during  that 
time  the  width  of  the  earth  between  us  and 
our  beloved  one ! 

I    recall    particularly    my   mother's    face 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbiifc,  95 

during  the  farewell  scene ;  she  was  seated 
in  an  arm-chair  beside  my  brother.  After 
the,  prayer  she  had  upon  her  face  an  infinitely 
sweet,  but  wistful  smile,  and  an  expression 
of  submissive  trust ;  but  suddenly  an  unex- 
pected change  came  over  her  features,  and 
in  spite  of  her  efforts  at  self-control  her  tears 
flowed.  I  had  never  before  seen  my  mother 
weep,  and  it  caused  me  the  greatest  anguish. 

The  first  few  days  after  his  departure  I 
had  a  feeling  of  sadness,  and  I  missed  him 
greatly ;  often  and  often  I  went  into  his 
room,  and  the  little  treasures  which  he  had 
confided  to  my  care  were  as  sacred  as  holy 
relics. 

Upon  a  map  of  the  world  I  had  my  parents 
point  out  to  me  the  route  of  his  journey,  a 
journey  which  would  take  about  five  months. 
To  me  his  return  belonged  to  an  incon- 
ceivable and  unreal  future ;  and,  most  strange 
of  all,  what  spoiled  for  me  the  pleasure  of  his 
home-coming,  was  that  I  at  that  time  would 
be  twelve  or  thirteen  years  of  age  —  almost 
a  big  boy  in  fact. 

Unlike  most  other  children,  —  especially 
unlike  those  of  to-day  —  who  are  eager  to 
become  men  and  -women  as  speedily  as 
possible,  I  had  a  terror  of  growing  up,  which 
became  more  and  more  accentuated  as  I 
grew  older.  I  argued  about  it  to  myself,  and 


96  ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc, 

I  wrote  about  it,  and  when  any  one  asked 
me  why  I  had  such  a  feeling  I  answered, 
since  I  could  not  think  of  a  better  reason : 
"  It  seems  to  me  that  it  will  be  very  weari- 
some to  be  a  man."  I  believe  that  it  is  an 
extremely  singular  state  of  mind,  an  alto- 
gether unique  one  perhaps,  this  shrinking 
away  from  life  at  its  very  beginning ;  I  was 
not  able  to  see  a  horizon  before  me  :  I  could 
not  picture  my  future  to  myself  as  so  many 
can ;  before  me  there  was  nothing  but  im- 
penetrable darkness,  a  great  leaden  curtain 
shut  off  my  view. 


Storg  of  a  Cbilt).  97 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

"AWAKES,  cakes,  my  good,  hot  cakes!'* 
v^  Thus,  in  a  plaintive  voice,  sang  the 
old  woman  peddler  who  regularly,  upon 
winter  evenings,  during  the  first  ten  or 
twelve  years  of  my  life,  passed  under  our 
window.  —  When  I  think  of  those  by-gone 
days  I  hear  again  her  insistent  refrain. 

It  is  with  the  memory  of  Sundays  that 
the  song  of  the  "good, hot  cakes"  is  most 
closely  associated  ;  for  upon  that  evening, 
having  no  duties  to  perform  in  the  way  of 
lessons,  I  sat  with  my  parents  in  the  par- 
lor upon  the  ground  floor  which  overlooked 
the  street ;  therefore,  when  almost  upon  the 
stroke  of  nine,  the  poor  old  woman  passed 
along  the  sidewalk,  and  her  sonorous  chant 
broke  into  the  stillness  of  the  frosty  night,  I 
was  near  enough  to  hear  her  distinctly. 

She  presaged  the  coming  of  cold  weather 
as  swallows  announce  the  advent  of  the 
spring.  After  a  succession  of  cool  autumnal 
days,  the  first  time  we  heard  her  song  we 
would  say:  "Well,  we  may  conclude  that 
winter  is  really  here." 


98          Ube  Storp  of  a  CbfU>, 

This  parlor  where  we  sat  together  seemed 
a  very  immense  room  to  me.  It  was  simply 
and  tastefully  furnished  and  arranged:  the 
walls  and  the  woodwork  were  brown,  deco- 
rated -with  strips  of  gold ;  the  furniture,  dat- 
ing from  the  time  of  Louis  Philippe,  was 
upholstered  in  red  velvet;  the  family  por- 
traits were  in  severe  black  and  gold  frames  ; 
in  the  centre  of  the  table,  in  the  place  of 
honor,  there  was  a  large  Bible  that  had 
been  printed  in  the  sixteenth  century.  This 
was  a  precious  heirloom  that  had  come 
down  to  us  from  our  Huguenot  ancestors 
who  had,  at  that  time,  been  persecuted 
for  their  faith.  We  had  baskets  and  vases 
of  flowers  disposed  about  the  room,  a 
custom  which  then  was  not  so  usual  as  it 
is  now. 

It  was  always  a  delicious  moment  for  me 
when  we  left  the  dining-room  and  went 
into  the  parlor,  for  the  latter  room  had  an 
air  of  great  peace  and  comfort;  and  -when 
all  the  family  were  seated  there  in  a  circle, 
mother,  grandmother  and  aunts,  I  began  to 
skip  about  noisily  in  their  midst  from  very 
joy  at  being  surrounded  by  so  many  loved 
ones ;  and  I  waited  impatiently  for  them  to 
begin  the  little  games  which  they  were  in  the 
habit  of  playing  with  me  early  in  the  even- 
ing. Our  neighbors,  the  D 's,  came  to 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbtl&.          99 

see  us  every  Sunday ;  it  was  a  time-honored 
custom  in  our  two  families,  between  whom 
there  existed  a  friendship  that  had  had  its 
inception  in  the  country  generations  before 
our  time;  it  was  a  friendship  -which  had 
been  handed  down  to  us  as  a  precious  heri- 
tage. At  about  eight  o'clock,  when  I  recog- 
nized their  ring,  I  jumped  for  joy,  and  I 
could  not  restrain  myself  from  running  to  the 
street  door  to  meet  them,  for  Lucette,  my 
dear  friend,  always  came  with  her  parents. 

Alas !  how  sad  is  my  reverie  when  I  think 
of  the  beloved  and  venerated  forms  of  those 
who  surrounded  me  upon  those  happy  Sun- 
day evenings ;  the  majority  of  them  have 
passed  away,  and  their  faces,  when  I  seek  to 
recall  them,  are  dim  and  misty — some  are 
altogether  lost  from  memory. 

Then  friends  and  relatives  would  begin  to 
play,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  me  pleasure, 
the  little  games  of  which  I  was  so  fond ;  they 
played  "Marriage,"  "My  Lady's  Toilet," 
"The  Horned  Knight,"  and  "The  Lovely 
Sheperdess."  Everybody  took  part  in  them, 
even  the  old  people,  and  my  grand-aunt  Ber- 
tha, the  eldest  of  all,  was  irresistibly  droll. 

Suddenly  I  would  become  quiet  and  listen 
attentively,  for  I  heard  in  the  distance : 
"  Cakes,  cakes,  my  good,  hot  cakes." 

The  refrain  became  louder  rapidly,  for  the 


100         ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc, 

singer  trotted  along  -with  short,  quick  steps, 
and  very  soon  she  was  under  our  -window, 
where  she  kept  repeating  her  song  in  a  shrill, 
cracked  voice. 

When  they  would  allow  me  to  do  so,  it 
was  my  greatest  pleasure  to  run  to  the  door, 
followed  by  an  indulgent  aunt,  not  so  much 
for  the  purpose  of  buying  the  cakes,  how- 
ever, for  they  were  coarse  and  unpalatable, 
as  to  stop  the  old  woman  and  talk  with  her. 

The  poor  old  peddler  would  approach  with 
a  courtesy,  proud  of  being  called,  and  stand- 
ing with  one  foot  upon  the  threshold  she 
•would  present  her  basket  for  our  inspection. 
Her  neat  dress  was  set  off  by  the  white  linen 
sleeves  that  she  always  wore.  While  she 
uncovered  her  basket  I  would  look  longingly, 
like  a  caged  wild-bird,  far  down  the  cold  and 
deserted  streets. 

I  liked  to  breathe  in  great  draughts  of  the 
icy  air,  to  look  hastily  into  the  black  night 
lying  beyond  the  door,  and  then  to  run  back 
into  the  warm  and  comfortable  parlor,  — 
meantime  the  monotonous  refrain  grew 
fainter  and  fainter  as  it  died  away  into  the 
mean  streets  that  lay  close  to  the  ramparts 
and  the  harbor.  The  old  woman's  route 
was  always  the  same,  and  my  thoughts 
followed  her  with  a  singular  interest  as  long 
as  the  song  continued. 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  <rbflt>.         101 

I  felt  a  great  pity  for  the  poor  old  woman 
still  wandering  about  in  the  cold  night,  while 
we  were  snug  and  warm  at  home ;  but 
mingled  with  that  feeling  there  was  another 
sentiment  so  confused  and  vague  that  I  give 
it  too  much  importance,  even  though  I 
touch  upon  it  never  so  lightly.  It  was  this  : 
I  had  a  sort  of  restless  curiosity  to  see  those 
squalid  streets  through  which  the  old  peddler 
went  so  bravely,  and  to  which  I  had  never 
been  taken.  These  streets,  that  I  saw  from 
the  distance,  were  deserted  in  the  day  time, 
but  there  in  the  evening,  from  time  im- 
memorial, sailors  made  merry;  sometimes 
the  sound  of  their  singing  was  so  loud  that 
we  could  hear  it  as  we  sat  in  our  parlor. 

"What  could  be  going  on  there  ?  What 
was  the  nature  of  that  fun,  the  echo  of  whose 
din  we  heard  so  distinctly  ?  How  did  they 
amuse  themselves,  these  sailors,  who  had 
but  newly  come  over  the  sea  from  distant 
countries  where  the  sun  was  always  hot  ? 
What  life  as  careless,  and  simple,  and  free 
as  theirs  ! 

My  emotions  lose  their  force  when  I  en- 
deavor to  interpret  them,  and  my  words 
seem  very  inept.  But  I  know  that  seeds 
of  trouble,  and  seeds  of  hope  (to  develop 
how  I  could  not  guess)  were  at  about  this 
time  planted  in  my  little  being.  When, 


102         Ube  Story  of  a  Cbflfc, 

with  my  cakes  in  my  hand,  I  reentered  the 
parlor,  where  the  family  sat  talking  together 
quietly,  I  felt  for  a  quick,  almost  inappreci- 
able moment,  suffocated  and  imprisoned. 

At  half-past  nine,  because  of  me  seldom 
later,  tea  was  served,  and  with  it  we  had 
thin  slices  of  bread,  spread  with  the  most 
delicious  butter,  and  cut  with  the  care  one 
gives  to  very  few  things  in  these  days. 

Then  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  after  a  read- 
ing from  the  Bible  and  a  prayer,  we  retired. 

As  I  lay  in  my  little,  white  bed  I  was 
always  more  restless  Sunday  nights  than 
at  any  other  time.  Immediately  ahead  of 
me  there  was  the  prospect  of  Mr.  Ratin 
whom  morning  would  surely  bring,  and  he 
was  always  a  most  painful  sight  to  me 
after  a  respite ;  also  I  was  full  of  regret 
because  Sunday  was  over,  always  over  so 
quickly  !  —  and  I  felt  a  great  weariness  when 
I  thought  of  the  many  lessons  it  would  be 
necessary  for  me  to  prepare  before  Sunday 
came  again.  Sometimes,  as  I  lay  there,  I 
would  hear  the  songs  the  sailors  sung  as 
they  passed  in  the  distance,  and  that 
changed  the  current  of  my  thoughts.  Then 
I  -would  brood  over  strange  and  distant 
lands  and  noble  ships ;  and  a  sort  of  dull 
and  indefinite  longing  took  possession  of 
me,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  would  like  to  be  out 


Ube  Stors  of  a  CbUfc.         103 

of  doors  myself  in  search  of  pleasurable 
and  exciting  adventure.  I  hungered  to  be 
in  the  bracing, 'wintry,  night  air,  or  in  one 
of  those  foreign  lands  where  the  sun  beats 
down  with  tropical  warmth ;  I  yearned  to 
be  out  and  singing  like  them,  as  loud  as 
possible,  just  for  the  joy  of  being  alive. 


104         ttbe  Storg  of  a 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

"  A  ND  I  beheld,  and  heard  an  angel  flying 

**i  through  the  midst  of  heaven,  saying 
with  a  loud  voice,  Woe,  woe,  woe,  to  the 
inhabiters  of  the  earth!" 

Besides  reading  the  Bible  with  the  family 
every  evening,  I  read  a  chapter  from  it  each 
morning  before  rising. 

My  Bible  was  a  very  small  one,  -with  ex- 
ceedingly fine  print.  Pressed  between  its 
pages  were  some  flowers  that  I  was  very 
fond  of;  especially  was  I  of  the  spray  of 
pink  larkspur,  which  had  the  power  of 
bringing  very  distinctly  before  my  mind's 
eye  the  stubble  fields  (gleux)  of  the  Island 
of  Oleron,  where  I  had  gathered  it. 

I  do  not  know  exactly  how  to  explain  the 
word  gleux,  but  it  means  the  stubble  which 
remains  after  the  grain  is  harvested,  and 
those  fields  of  short,  pale,  yellow  stalks  that 
the  autumn  sun  dries  and  turns  a  bright 
golden.  In  these  fields  upon  the  Island, 
overrun  by  chirping  grasshoppers,  late 
corn-flowers,  and  white  and  pink  larkspur 
come  up,  grow  very  high,  and  blossom* 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbtlt).         105 

And  upon  "winter  mornings,  before  begin- 
ning to  read,  I  always  looked  at  the  spray  of 
flowers  -which  still  retained  its  delicate  color, 
and  there  appeared  to  me  a  vision  of  the 
Island,  and  I  longed  for  the  summer-time, 
and  for  the  warm  and  sunny  fields  of  Oleron. 

"  And  I  beheld,  and  heard  an  angel  flying 
through  the  midst  of  heaven,  saying  with  a 
loud  voice,  Woe,  woe,  woe,  to  the  inhabiters 
of  the  earth ! 

"  And  the  fifth  angel  sounded,  and  I  saw 
a  star  fall  from  heaven  upon  the  earth ;  and 
to  him  was  given  the  key  of  the  bottomless 

pit.- 

When  I  read  my  Bible  for  myself,  having 
then  my  choice  of  passages,  I  either  selected 
that  grand  portion  of  Genesis  wherein  the 
light  is  separated  from  the  darkness,  or  the 
visions  and  the  marvels  of  Revelations.  I 
was  fascinated  by  its  imaginative  poetry,  so 
splendid  and  yet  so  terrible,  which  has,  in 
my  opinion,  never  been  equalled  in  any 
other  book  of  mankind.  .  .  .  The  beasts 
with  seven  heads,  the  signs  in  the  heavens, 
the  sound  of  the  last  trumpet  were  well- 
known  terrors  that  haunted  and  enchanted 
my  imagination. 

In  a  book,  a  relic  of  my  Huguenot  ances- 
tors, printed  in  the  last  century,  I  had  seen 
pictures  of  these  things.  It  was  a  "  History 


106          ZTbe  Stors  of  a  Gbflfc. 

of  the  Bible,"  and  the  -weird  pictures  illus- 
trating the  visions  of  the  Book  of  Revela- 
tions, invariably  had  dark  backgrounds.  My 
maternal  grandmother  kept  this  precious 
book,  which  she  had  brought  from  the 
Island,  under  lock  and  key  in  a  cupboard  in 
her  room ;  and  as  it  was  still  my  habit  to 
go  there  at  the  sad  hour  of  dusk,  it  was  then 
that  I  usually  asked  her  to  lend  me  the  book, 
so  that  I  might  turn  over  its  leaves  as  it  lay 
upon  her  lap.  In  the  dim  twilight  until  it 
was  too  dark  to  see,  I  gazed  at  the  multi- 
tude of  winged  angels  who  were  flying 
rapidly  under  the  curtain  of  blackness 
which  presaged  the  end  of  the  -world.  The 
heavens  -were  darker  than  the  earth,  and,  in 
the  midst  of  the  great  cloud  masses,  there 
was  visible  the  simple  and  terrifying  tri- 
angle that  signified  Jehovah. 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc.         107 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

EGYPT,  the  Egypt  of  antiquity,  at  a  later 
time,  exercised  a  mysterious  fascina- 
tion over  me.  I  recognized  a  picture  of  it 
immediately,  without  hesitation  and  aston- 
ishment, in  an  illustrated  magazine.  I 
saluted  as  old  acquaintances  two  gods  with 
hawk  heads  that  were  cut  in  profile  upon  a 
stone  and  placed  at  each  end  of  a  strangely 
depicted  Zodiac,  and  although  I  saw  the 
picture  for  the  first  time  upon  an  overcast 
day,  there  came  to  me,  and  of  that  I  am 
sure,  a  sudden  impression  of  great  heat  given 
out  by  a  pitiless  sun. 


108         ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilt>. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

DURING  the  winter  following  the  depar- 
ture of  my  brother,  I  passed  many  of  my 
leisure  hours  in  his  room  painting  the  pic- 
tures in  the  "Voyage  to  Polynesia"  which 
he  had  given  me.  With  great  care,  I  first 
colored  the  flowers  and  the  groups  of  birds. 
After  that  I  painted  the  men.  When  I  came 
to  color  the  two  young  Tahitian  girls  who 
were  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  sea  (the 
illustrator  had  been  inspired  to  depict  them 
as  nymphs)  I  made  them  white,  all  white 
and  pink  like  a  pretty  little  doll  —  I  thought 
them  very  beautiful  done  so. 

It  was  reserved  for  me  to  learn  later  that 
their  color  is  different,  and  their  charms 
quite  otherwise. 

My  ideas  of  beauty  have  changed  a  great 
deal  since  that  time,  and  it  would  have 
astonished  me  very  much  if  I  had  then  been 
told  what  faces  I  was  to  find  most  charming 
in  the  strange  course  of  my  later  life.  But 
almost  all  children  are  under  the  dominion 
of  some  fancy  which  dies  out  when  they 
Become  men  and  women. 


Stors  of  a  Cbil&.         109 

The  majority  of  people,  during  the  period 
of  their  innocence  and  youth,  similarly 
admire  the  same  type  ;  sweet,  regular  fea- 
tures, and  the  fresh  pink  and  white  tints. 
Only  at  a  later  time  does  their  estimate  of 
what  constitutes  beauty  vary,  then  it  accords 
with  the  culture  of  their  spirit,  and  espe- 
cially does  it  follow  in  the  wake  of  their 
developing  intelligence. 


110          ttbe  Stot£  ot  a  Cbilfc, 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

1DO  not  exactly  remember  at  what  period 
I  started  my  museum  which  absorbed  so 
much  of  my  time.  Just  above  my  Aunt 
Bertha's  room  there  "was  a  tiny  garret- 
chamber  that  I  had  taken  possession  of ;  the 
chief  charm  of  the  place  was  the  window 
that  opened  to  the  west,  and  commanded  a 
view  of  the  ramparts  and  its  old  trees.  The 
reddish  spots  in  the  distance,  that  broke  the 
uniform  green  of  the  meadows,  were  herds 
of  wandering  oxen  and  cows.  I  had  per- 
suaded my  mother  to  paper  this  attic  room, 
and  she  had  covered  its  walls  -with  a  pink- 
ish chamois  paper  which  is  still  there  ;  she 
also  put  a  what-not  and  some  glass  cases 
there.  In  these  latter  I  placed  my  butter- 
flies which  I  looked  upon  as  rare  specimens  ; 
I  also  arranged  therein  the  birds'-nests  that 
I  had  found  in  the  woods  of  Limoise ;  the 
shells  I  had  gathered  upon  the  shores  of 
the  Island,  and  those  others  (brought  from 
the  colonies  at  an  early  time  by  unknown 
ancestors)  that  I  had  found  in  the  garret  at 
the  bottom  of  old  chests,  where  they  had 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  (TbfU>.  Ill 

lain  for  years  and  years,  given  over  to  dust 
and  darkness. 

I  spent  many  tranquil  hours  in  this  retreat 
contemplating  the  tropical  mother-of-pearl 
shells,  and  trying  to  image  to  myself  the 
strange  coasts  from  which  they  had  come. 

A  good,  old,  great-uncle  of  mine,  who  was 
very  fond  of  me,  encouraged  me  in  these 
diversions.  He  was  a  physician,  and  in  his 
youth  he  had  lived  for  a  long  time  upon  the 
coast  of  Africa  ;  he  had  a  collection  of  natural 
history  specimens  almost  as  valuable  and 
varied  as  any  found  in  a  city  museum.  His 
wonderful  things  captivated  me :  the  rare 
and  exquisite  shells,  amulets  and  wooden 
weapons  that  still  retained  their  exotic 
odor,  with  which  I  became  so  surfeited  later, 
and  indescribably  beautiful  butterflies  under 
glass  enchanted  me. 

He  lived  in  our  neighborhood  and  I  visited 
him  often.  To  get  to  his  cabinets,  it  was 
necessary  to  go  through  his  garden  where 
thorn-apples  and  cacti  grew  abundantly,  and 
where  they  kept  a  gray  parrot,  brought  from 
Gaboon,  whose  vocabulary  consisted  of 
words  learnt  from  the  negroes. 

And  when  my  old  uncle  spoke  of  Senegal, 
of  Goree,  and  of  Guinea,  the  music  of  these 
names  intoxicated  me,  and  conveyed  to  me 
vaguely  something  of  the  sad  languor  of  the 


112         Ube  Stors  of  a 

dark  continent.  My  uncle  predicted  that  I 
would  become  a  great  naturalist,  —  but  he 
•was  as  mistaken  as  were  all  those  others 
•who  foretold  my  future  ;  indeed  he  struck 
farther  from  the  centre  than  any  one  else ; 
he  did  not  understand  that  my  liking  for 
natural  history  was  no  more  than  a  tem- 
porary and  erratic  excursion  of  an  unformed 
mind  ;  he  could  not  know  that  the  cold  glass 
and  the  formal,  rigid  arrangements  of  dead 
science  had  not  power  to  hold  me  for  long. 

No,  what  attracted  me  so  strongly  was 
the  something  behind  those  lifeless  things, 
of  them,  and  yet  beyond  them;  —  it  was 
majestic  nature  herself  with  her  thousand 
manifestations,  with  her  great  unknown  uni- 
verse, animate  and  inanimate,  that  created 
my  interest. 


Ube  StotB  ot  a  Gbilfc,         113 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

IN  the  meantime,  alas !  I  had  to  spend 
many  long  and  wearisome  hours  in  going 
through  the  form  of  studying  my  lessons. 

Topffer,  who  is  the  only  real  poet  of 
school-boys,  that  genus  so  misunderstood, 
divides  us  into  three  groups :  first,  those 
who  are  in  boarding  schools ;  second,  those 
who  do  all  their  studying  at  home,  at  a  win- 
dow which  overlooks  a  gloomy  courtyard 
containing  a  twisted,  old,  fig  tree ;  third, 
those  who  also  study  at  home  in  a  bright 
little  room  whose  window  commands  a  view 
of  the  street. 

I  belonged  to  that  third  class  whom 
Topffer  considers  extraordinarily  privileged, 
and  as  likely,  in  consequence,  to  grow  up 
into  happy  men.  My  room  was  upon  the 
first  floor,  and  it  opened  into  the  street ;  it 
had  white  curtains,  and  its  green  paper  was 
embellished  with  bouquets  of  white  roses. 
Near  the  window  was  my  work  desk,  and 
above  it,  upon  a  book-shelf,  was  my  very- 
much-neglected  library. 

In  fine  weather  I  always  opened  this  win- 


tl4         ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

dow,  but  I  kept  my  Venetian  blinds  half- 
closed,  so  that  I  might  look  out  without 
having  my  idleness  seen,  and  reported  by  a 
meddlesome  neighbor.  Morning  and  even- 
ing, I  glanced  to  the  end  of  the  quiet  street 
that  stretched  its  sunny  length  between  the 
white  country  houses,  and  lost  itself  among 
the  old  trees  growing  beyond  the  ramparts. 
I  could  see  from  there  the  occasional  pass- 
ers-by, all  well  known  to  me  ;  the  neighbor- 
hood cats  that  prowled  within  doorways  or 
upon  house-tops;  the  swifts  darting  about 
in  the  warm  air,  and  the  swallows  skimming 
along  the  dusty  street.  .  .  .  Oh !  how  many 
hours  have  I  spent  at  that  window  feeling 
like  a  caged  sparrow,  my  spirit  filled  with 
vague  reverie  ;  and  meantime  my  ink-blotted 
copy-book  lay  open  before  me,  but  no  in- 
spiration would  come,  and  the  composition 
that  I  was  engaged  upon  got  itself  finished 
very  laboriously,  —  often  not  at  all. 

And  before  long  I  began  to  play  tricks 
upon  the  pedestrians,  a  fatal  result  of  my 
idleness  over  which  I  often  felt  remorseful. 

I  am  bound  to  confess  that  my  great  friend 
Lucette  was  usually  a  willing  assistant  in 
these  pranks.  Although  now  almost  a 
young  lady  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of 
age,  she  was  at  times  almost  as  much  of 
a  child  as  I.  "  You  must  never  never  tell  any 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbtl^         U5 

one !  "  she  would  say  with  an  irrepressible 
smile  of  mischief  in  her  merry  eyes  (but  I 
may  tell  now  after  so  many  years  have 
passed,  now  that  the  flowers  of  twenty  sum- 
mers have  bloomed  upon  her  grave). 

Our  pranks  consisted  of  taking  cherry 
stems,  plum  stones  and  any  sort  of  trash, 
and  wrapping  them  neatly  into  white  or  pink/ 
paper  parcels  that  looked  very  attractive  to 
the  eye ;  we  then  threw  these  bundles  into 
the  street  and  hid  ourselves  behind  the 
shutters  to  see  who  picked  them  up. 

Sometimes  we  would  write  letters,  im- 
pertinent or  incoherent  ones,  with  accom- 
panying drawings  to  illustrate  the  text ; 
these  we  addressed  to  the  different  eccentric 
people  in  our  neighborhood,  and,  with  the 
aid  of  a  thread,  we  lowered  them  to  the  side- 
walk at  about  the  time  these  persons  were 
in  the  habit  of  passing.  .  .  . 

Oh !  how  merrily  we  laughed  as  we  com- 
posed these  hodge-podges  of  style  !  With  no 
one  else  have  I  ever  laughed  so  heartily  as 
with  Lucette,  —  and  we  usually  roared  over 
things  that  no  one  except  ourselves  could 
possibly  have  considered  funny.  Over  and 
above  the  bond  of  little  brother  and  grown 
sister,  there  -was  between  us  a  sympathy 
springing  from  our  appreciation  of  the  ridicu- 
lous, and  our  notions  of  what  constituted 


116          Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 

fun  were  in  complete  accord.  She  was  the 
sprightliest  person  I  ever  knew,  and  some- 
times a  single  word  would  start  us  to  laugh- 
ing at  our  own  or  our  neighbors'  expense, 
until  our  sides  ached,  and  we  almost  fell 
upon  the  floor. 

This  part  of  my  nature  was  not,  I  must 
confess,  in  harmony  with  the  gloomy  rev- 
eries evoked  by  the  pictures  of  the  Book  of 
Revelations,  and  with  my  ascetic  religious 
convictions.  But  I  was  already  full  of 
strange  contradictions. 

Poor  little  Lucette  or  Lucon  (Lucon  was 
the  masculine  for  Lucette,  and  I  used  to  call 
her,"  My  dear  Lucon  "  )  ;  poor  little  Lucette 
was  also  one  of  my  professors,  but  one  who 
caused  me  neither  fear  nor  disgust.  Like 
"Mr.  Ratin  "  she  also  kept  a  book  wherein 
she  would  inscribe  "  good  "  or  "  very  good," 
and  I  showed  it  to  my  parents  every  even- 
ing. Until  now  I  have  neglected  to  say 
that  it  had  been  one  of  her  amusements  to 
teach  me  to  play  upon  the  piano ;  she  taught 
me  by  stealth,  so  that  I  might  surprise  my 
parents  by  playing  for  them,  upon  the  occa- 
sion of  a  family  celebration,  the  "  Little 
Swiss  Boy"  or  the  "Rocks  of  St.  Malo." 
The  result  was  she  had  been  requested  to  go 
on  with  lessons  that  had  had  such  a  favor- 
able beginning,  and  my  musical  education 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbito*          U7 

was  entrusted  to  her  until  it  came  time  for 
me  to  play  the  music  of  Chopin  and  Liszt. 

Painting  and  music  were  the  only  things 
I  worked  at  industriously  and  faithfully. 

My  sister  taught  me  painting ;  I  do  not, 
however,  remember  when  I  commenced  it, 
but  it  must  have  been  very  early  in  my  life  ; 
it  seems  to  me  that  there  was  never  a  time 
when  I  was  not  able,  with  my  pencil  or  my 
brush,  to  express  in  some  measure  the  odd 
fancies  of  my  imagination. 


118         ttbe  Stors  of  a  CDbflfc. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

IN  my  grandmother's  room,  at  the  bottom 
of  the  cupboard  where  she  kept  "  The 
History  of  the  Bible,"  with  the  terrible  pic- 
tures illustrating  the  visions  of  Revelations, 
she  had  also  several  other  precious  relics. 
In  particular  there  was  an  old,  silver-clasped 
psalm  book.  It  was  extremely  tiny,  like  a 
toy-book,  and  in  its  day  it  must  have  been 
a  marvel  of  the  printer's  skill.  It  had  been 
made  in  miniature  thus,  they  told  me,  so 
that  it  could  be  easily  hidden ;  at  the  time 
of  the  persecutions  our  ancestors  had  often 
carried  it  about  with  them,  concealed  in 
their  clothing.  There  was  also,  in  a  paste- 
board box,  a  bundle  of  letters  written  on 
parchment  and  marked  Leyden  or  Amster- 
dam. Those  written  between  the  years 
1702  and  1710  were  secured  by  a  large  wax 
seal  stamped  with  a  count's  coronet. 

They  were  letters  of  our  Huguenot  ances- 
tors, who,  at  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of 
Nantes,  had  quitted  their  country,  their 
home  and  their  dear  ones,  rather  than  ab- 
jure their  faith.  The  letters  had  been  writ- 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc,         119 

ten  to  an  old  grandfather,  a  man  too  aged 
to  go  the  way  of  exile,  who  -was  able,  for 
some  inexplicable  reason,  to  remain  unmo- 
lested in  his  retreat  upon  the  Island  of 
Oleron.  The  letters  testified  to  the  fact  that 
the  exiles  had  been  submissive  and  respect- 
ful towards  him  to  a  degree  unknown  in  our 
day ;  the  wanderers  wrote  asking  his  advice 
or  his  consent  before  undertaking  anything, 
• —  they  even  asked  whether  they  might  wear 
a  certain  wig  which  was  fashionable  in  Am- 
sterdam at  that  time.  They  spoke  of  their 
troubles,  but  without  murmuring  over  them, 
with  a  truly  Christian  resignation ;  their 
goods  had  been  confiscated ;  they  were 
obliged  to  follow  uncongenial  trades  in 
order  to  maintain  themselves ;  and  they 
hoped,  they  said,  with  the  aid  of  God,  al- 
ways to  make  enough  to  keep  their  chil- 
dren from  starving. 

Together  with  the  respect  that  these  let- 
ters inspired,  they  had  also  the  charm  of 
age ;  it  was  a  novel  experience  to  enter  into 
the  life  of  a  bygone  time,  to  know  the  inmost 
thoughts  of  those  who  had  lived  a  century 
and  a  half  before  me. 

My  grandmother,  always  so  austere  and 
upright  looking  in  her  black  clothes,  a  type 
of  a  Huguenot  woman,  had  been  fearful  for 
her  own  safety  during  the  Restoration,  and 


120         Sbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc, 

although  she  never  spoke  of  it,  we  felt  that 
she  must  have  very  depressing  memories 
of  that  time. 

And  upon  the  Island,  in  the  shade  of  a 
bit  of  woodland  that  was  encircled  by  a 
wall,  I  had  seen  the  place  where  slept  those 
of  my  ancestors  who  had  been  excluded  from 
the  cemeteries  because  they  had  died  in  the 
Protestant  faith. 

How  could  I  be  anything  but  faithful  with 
such  a  past  ?  And  it  is  certain  that  had  the 
Inquisition  been  revived  in  my  childhood,  I 
would  have  suffered  martyrdom  joyfully, 
like  one  filled  to  overflowing  with  the  spirit 
of  God. 

My  faith  was  a  faith  that  kept  watch  upon 
the  theological  errors  of  the  time,  and  I  did 
not  know  the  resignation  felt  by  my  ances- 
tors ;  in  spite  of  my  distaste  for  reading,  I 
often  plunged  into  books  of  religious  con- 
troversy ;  I  knew  by  heart  the  many  pas- 
sages from  the  Fathers  and  the  decisions  of 
the  first  councils ;  I  could  have  discussed 
the  dogmas  of  the  church  like  a  doctor  of 
divinity,  and  I  considered  my  arguments 
against  the  papacy  very  shrewd. 

But  notwithstanding  my  fervor,  a  distaste 
for  all  of  these  religious  things  would  often 
take  possession  of  me  ;  sometimes  at  church 
especially,  where  the  gray  light  fell  upon  me 


Ube  Stors  of  a  dbiifc,         121 

and  chilled  me,  I  felt  it  most.  The  awful 
tediousness  of  some  of  the  Sunday  sermons  ;  K 
the  emptiness  of  the  prayers,  -written  in 
advance  and  spoken  with  conventional  unctu- 
ous voice,  and  gestures  to  suit ;  and  the 
apathy  of  the  people  who,  dressed  out  in 
their  best,  came  to  listen,  —  how  early  I 
divined  its  hollowness,  —  and  how  deep  was 
my  disappointment,  and  how  cruel  the  dis- 
illusionment—  oh  !  the  disheartening  formal- 
ism of  it  all !  The  very  appearance  of  the 
church  disconcerted  me :  it  was  a  new,  city- 
fied  one,  meant  to  be  pretty  without,  how- 
ever, meaning  to  be  too  much  so  ;  I  especially 
recall  certain  little  efforts  at  wall  decoration 
which  I  held  in  the  greatest  abomination, 
and  shuddered  when  I  looked  at.  It  was 
that  disgust  in  little,  which  I  experienced  in 
so  great  a  degree  when  later  I  attended 
those  Paris  churches  that  strive  so  for  ele- 
gance, where  one  is  met  at  the  door  by 
ushers  whose  shoulders  are  tricked  out  with 
knots  of  ribbon.  ...  Oh  !  for  the  congre- 
gations of  Cevennes  !  Oh  !  for  the  preachers 
of  the  wilderness  ! 

Such  little  things  as  I  have  mentioned  did 
not  shake  my  faith,  which  seemed  as  solid 
as  a  house  built  upon  a  rock  ;  but  doubtless 
they  made  the  first  imperceptible  crevice 
through  which,  drop  by  drop,  oozed  the 
melting  ice-cold  water. 


122         Ube  Stors  of  a 

Where  I  still  knew  true  meditation,  and 
felt  the  deep,  sweet,  peace  one  should  feel  in 
the  house  of  God  was  in  an  old  church  in 
the  village  of  St.  Pierre  Oleron ;  my  great 
grandfather  Samuel  had,  at  the  time  of  the 
persecutions,  worshipped  and  prayed  there, 
and  my  mother  had  also  attended  it  during 
her  girlhood  days.  ...  I  also  loved  those 
little  country  churches  to  which  we  some- 
times went  on  Sunday  in  the  summer  time  : 
they  were  generally  old  and  had  simple, 
whitewashed  walls.  They  were  built  any 
where  and  every  where,  in  a  corner  of  a 
wheat  field  with  -wild  flowers  growing  all 
about  them ;  or  in  more  retired  places,  in 
the  centre  of  some  enclosure  at  the  far  end 
of  an  avenue  of  old  trees.  The  Catholics 
have  nothing,  in  my  opinion,  which  sur- 
passes in  religious  charm  these  humble  little 
sanctuaries  of  our  Protestant  ancestors - 
not  even  do  their  most  exquisite  stone 
chapels,  hidden  away  in  the  depth  of  the 
Breton  woods,  that  at  a  later  time  I  learned 
to  admire  so  much,  touch  me  so  deeply. 

I  still  held  fast  to  my  determination  to 
become  a  minister ;  it  still  seemed  to  me 
that  that  was  my  duty.  I  had  pledged  my- 
self, in  my  prayers  I  had  given  my  word  to 
God.  How  could  I,  therefore,  break  my 
vow  ? 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbfifc,        123 

But  when  my  young  mind  busied  itself 
with  thoughts  of  the  future,  more  and  more 
veiled  from  me  by  an  impenetrable  dark- 
ness, my  preference  was  for  a  church  which 
should  be  a  little  isolated  from  the  noisy 
world,  for  one  where  the  faith  of  my  con- 
gregation should  ever  remain  simple,  for 
one  receiving  its  consecration  from  a  long 
past  of  prayers  and  sincerest  worship. 

It  would  be  in  the  Island  of  Oleron  per- 
haps ! 

Yes ;  there,  surrounded  upon  every  side 
by  the  memories  of  my  Huguenot  ancestors, 
I  could  look  forward  without  dread,  indeed 
with  much  contentment,  to  a  life  dedicated 
to  the  service  of  the  Lord. 


124         Ube  Storg  ot  a  CbfU>. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

MY  brother  had  arrived  at  the  Delightful 
Island.  His  first  letter  dated  from 
there  was  a  very  long  one,  it  was  written 
on  thin  paper  that  had  been  stained  a  light 
yellow  by  the  sea,  for  it  had  been  upon  its 
way  four  months. 

It  was  a  great  event  in  our  family,  and 
I  still  recall  that  as  my  father  and  mother 
broke  its  seal,  I  sprang  joyously  up  the 
stairs,  two  steps  at  a  time,  in  my  haste  to 
reach  the  second  floor  and  call  my  grand- 
mother and  aunts  from  their  rooms. 

Inside  the  plump-feeling  envelope,  which 
•was  covered  over  with  South  American 
stamps,  there  was  a  note  for  me,  and  en- 
closed in  this  I  found  a  pressed  flower,  a 
sort  of  five-petalled  star  which,  though 
somewhat  faded,  was  still  pink.  The  flower, 
my  brother  wrote,  was  from  a  shrub  that 
had  taken  root  and  blossomed  beside  his 
window,  almost  within  his  Tahitian  hut, 
which  was  actually  invaded  by  the  luxuri- 
ant vegetation  of  the  region.  Oh !  with 
what  deep  emotion ;  —  with  what  avidity, 


ZTbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc*          125 

if  I  may  express  it  thus,  did  I  gaze  at  and 
touch  the  periwinkle,  which  was  almost  a 
fresh  and  living  part  of  that  unknown  and 
distant  land,  of  that  voluptuous  nature. 

Then  I  pressed  it  again  with  so  much 
care  that  I  possess  it  intact  to  this  day. 

And  after  many  years,  when  I  made  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  humble  dwelling  in  which 
my  brother  had  lived  during  his  stay  in 
Tahiti,  I  saw  that  the  shady  garden  sur- 
rounding it  was  rosy  with  these  periwinkles ; 
they  had  even  pushed  their  way  over  the 
threshold  of  the  door  to  blossom  within 
the  deserted  cabin. 


126         Ube  Stors  of  a 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

AFTER  my  ninth  birthday  my  parents, 
for  a  time,  spoke  of  putting  me  into 
boarding-school  so  that  I  might  become 
habituated  to  the  harder  ways  of  life;  and 
since  the  matter  was  talked  over  by  all  the 
members  of  the  family,  I  -went  about  for 
several  days  feeling  as  if  I  were  on  the  eve 
of  being  sent  to  prison,  for  I  imagined  that 
a  boarding-school  had  high  walls  and  win- 
dows guarded  by  iron  bars. 

But,  upon  reflection,  they  considered  that 
I  was  too  frail  and  delicate  a  human  plant  to 
be  thrown  in  contact  with  those  others  of 
my  kind  who,  in  all  probability,  would  play 
roughly,  and  have  bad  manners  ;  they  con- 
cluded, therefore,  to  keep  me  at  home  a  little 
longer. 

At  any  rate  I  was  delivered  from  "Mr. 
Ratin."  The  old  professor,  rotund  of  figure 
and  kind  of  manner,  who  succeeded  him,  was 
less  distasteful  to  me,  but  I  made  just  as 
little  progress  under  his  care.  In  the  after- 
noon, at  about  the  time  for  his  arrival,  I 
would  hastily  begin  to  prepare  my  lessons. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc,         127 

I  was  then  usually  to  be  found  at  my  win- 
dow, hidden  behind  the  Venetian  blinds, 
with  my  book  open  at  the  page  containing 
the  lesson ;  and  when  I  saw  him  come  into 
view  at  the  turning  near  the  bottom  of  the 
street  I  commenced  to  study  it. 

And  generally  by  the  time  he  arrived  I 
knew  enough  to  receive,  if  not  to  merit,  a 
"  pretty  good,"  a  mark  over  which  I  did  not 
grumble. 

I  had  also  my  English  professor  who  came 
to  me  every  morning,  —  and  whom  I  nick- 
named Aristogiton  (I  do  not  now  recall  why). 
Following  the  Robertson  method,  he  had  me 
paraphrase  the  history  of  Sultan  Mahmoud. 
Outside  of  that,  the  only  thing  that  I  am 
sure  of  is  that  I  accomplished  nothing,  abso- 
luely  nothing,  less  than  nothing  ;  but  he  had 
the  good  taste  not  to  growl  at  me,  and  in 
consequence  I  have  an  almost  affectionate 
remembrance  of  him. 

During  the  extreme  heat  of  the  summer 
days  it  was  my  custom  to  study  in  the 
yard  ;  I  took  my  ink-stained  copy  and  lesson 
books  and  spread  them  upon  a  table  that 
stood  in  the  summer-house  made  shady  by 
the  vines  and  honeysuckles  that  grew  over 
it.  And  when  I  was  nicely  settled  there  I  felt 
that  I  might  idle  to  my  heart's  content.  From 
behind  the  lattice-work,  green  with  trellised 


128        Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

vines,  I  kept  a  lookout  in  order  to  see  any 
danger  that  threatened  in  the  distance.  .  .  . 
I  was  always  careful  to  bring  with  me  to 
this  retreat  a  quantity  of  cherries  and  grapes, 
whichever  happened  to  be  in  season,  and 
truly  I  could  have  passed  there  hours  of  the 
most  delicious  reverie  but  for  the  remorse 
that  tormented  me  almost  every  moment, 
a  remorse  born  of  the  fact  that  I  was  not 
busying  myself  with  my  lessons. 

Through  the  foliage  I  saw,  close  to  me, 
the  cool-looking  pond  with  its  tiny  grottoes 
which,  since  my  brother's  departure,  I  al- 
most worshipped.  The  little  fountain  in 
the  centre  stirred  the  waters  and  made  the 
sunlight  that  fell  on  its  surface  dance  joy- 
ously ;  and  the  sun's  rays  pierced  the  green 
verdure  surrounding  me  —  I  seemed  to  be 
in  the  midst  of  luminous  water  that  quiv- 
ered all  about  me  with  a  ceaseless  motion. 

My  arbor  was  a  shady  little  retreat  that 
gave  me  a  complete  illusion  of  country; 
from  the  far  side  of  the  old  wall  came  the 
song  of  the  tropical  birds  belonging  to 
Antoinette's  mother,  and  I  heard  the  rol- 
licking warble  and  twitter  of  the  swallows 
perched  on  the  house-top,  and  the  chirp  of 
the  common  sparrows  as  they  flew  about 
among  the  trees  in  the  garden. 

Sometimes    I   would   throw   myself  face- 


Ebe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc,         129 

upward  full-length  upon  the  green  bench 
that  was  there,  and  through  the  tasselled 
honeysuckle  I  had  a  view  of  the  white 
.  clouds  as  they  sailed  across  the  blue  of  the 
sky.  There,  too,  I  was  initiated  into  the 
habits  of  the  mosquitos  who  all  day  long 
poised  themselves  tremblingly,  by  means  of 
their  long  legs,  upon  the  leaves.  And  often 
I  concentrated  all  my  attention  upon  the  old 
wall  where  the  insects  acted  out  their  tragi- 
cal dramas  :  the  cunning  spider  would  come 
suddenly  from  his  nook  and  ensnare  in  his 
web  the  heedless  little  insects,  —  with  the 
aid  of  a  straw,  I  was  usually  able  to  deliver 
them  from  their  peril. 

I  have  forgotten  to  mention  that  I  had,  for 
companion,  an  old  cat  called  Suprematie, 
who  had  been  my  faithful  and  beloved  friend 
since  infancy. 

Suprematie  knew  at  what  hour  he  would 
find  me  there,  and  he  used  to  slip  in  quietly 
upon  the  tips  of  his  velvet  paws  ;  he  never 
stretched  himself  beside  me  without  first 
looking  at  me  questioningly. 

The  poor  creature  was  very  homely;  he 
was  marked  queerly  upon  only  one  side  of 
his  body;  moreover,  in  a  cruel  accident  he 
had  twisted  his  tail,  and  it  hung  down  at 
a  right-angle.  He  was  the  subject  of  Lu- 
cette's  continual  mockery,  for  she  had  a 


130         ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

lovely  Angora  cat  that  had  usurped  Supr6- 
matie's  place  in  her  affections.  It  was  my 
habit  to  run  out  to  see  her  when  she  came 
to  inquire  after  the  members  of  my  fam- 
ily; she  rarely  failed  to  add,  with  a  funny 
air  of  concern,  which  made  me  burst  out 
laughing  in  spite  of  myself:  "And  your 
horror  of  a  cat,  is  he  in  good  health,  my 
dear?" 


Stors  of  a  Cbfifc,         131 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

DURING  all  this  time  my  museum  made 
great  progress,  and  it  soon  became 
necessary  for  me  to  have  some  new  shelves 
put  up. 

My  great-uncle  continued  to  take  a  very 
deep  interest  in  my  taste  for  natural  history, 
and  among  his  shells  he  found  a  number  of 
duplicates,  and  these  he  presented  to  me. 
With  indefatigable  patience  he  taught  me 
the  scientific  classifications  of  Cuvier,  Linne, 
Lamarck  or  Bruguieres,  and  I  was  aston- 
ished at  the  attention  with  which  I  listened 
to  him. 

In  a  very  old  little  desk  that  was  a  part  of 
the  furniture  of  my  museum,  I  had  a  copy- 
book into  which  I  copied,  from  uncle's  notes, 
and  numbered,  with  the  greatest  care,  the 
name  of  the  species,  genus,  family  and  class 
of  each  shell,  —  also  the  place  of  its  origin. 
And  there  by  the  dim  light  that  fell  upon  the 
desk,  in  the  silence  of  that  little  retreat  so 
high  above  the  street,  surrounded  with 
objects  that  had  come  from  distant  corners 
of  the  earth  and  from  the  depths  of  the  sea, 


132         Ube  Stors  ot  a  Cbflfc. 

•when  my  mind  "wandered,  and  I  became 
fatigued  because  of  the  mysterious  differ- 
ences in  the  forms  of  animals,  and  because 
of  the  infinite  variety  of  shells,  with  what 
emotion  I  wrote  down  in  my  book,  opposite 
the  name  of  a  Spirifer  or  a  Terebratula,  such 
enchanting  words  as  these  :  "  Eastern  coast 
of  Africa,"  "coast  of  Guinea,"  "Indian 
Ocean." 

I  recall  that  in  this  same  museum  I  ex- 
perienced, one  afternoon  in  March,  a  peculiar 
feeling  indicative  of  my  tendency  towards  re- 
action, that  later,  at  certain  periods  of  self- 
abandonment,  caused  me  to  seek  the  rough 
and  uncouth  society  of  sailors,  and  made  me 
revel  in  noise  and  change  and  gayety. 

It  -was  Mardi-Gras  time.  At  sundown  I 
had  gone  out  with  my  father  to  see  the  mas- 
queraders  who  were  in  the  streets ;  and 
having  returned  rather  early  I  went  imme- 
diately to  my  attic-room  to  classify  some 
shells.  But  the  noise  of  the  revellers  and 
the  clashing  of  their  tambourines  reached 
even  to  the  retreat  where  I  was  occupying 
myself  with  scientific  matters,  and  the 
sounds  awakened  in  me  a  feeling  of  inex- 
pressible sadness.  It  was  the  same  emo- 
tion, greatly  intensified,  that  I  had  when  I 
listened,  of  "winter  evenings,  to  the  old  cake- 
vendor,  and  heard  her  voice  die  away  into 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  CbUt>,         133 

those  far-off  squalid  streets  near  the  harbor. 
I  experienced  an   unexpected   anguish  very 
difficult  to  define  in  words.     I  had  a  vague 
impression,   which   was   the   cause    of    my 
suffering,   that    I  was    imprisoned ;    and  for 
the  moment,   I   thought  that  my  liking   for 
dry  classifications  and  nature-study  shut  me 
away  from  the  little  boys  of  every  age  who 
were  in  the  streets  below  mingling  -with  the 
sailors,  more  childish  than  they,  who,  tricked 
out  in  dreadful  masks,  ran  and  frollicked  and 
sang  coarse  songs.     It  goes  without  saying 
that  I  had  no  desire  to  be  one  of  them ;  the 
very  idea  of  jostling  against  them  filled  me 
with   distaste,    and   I   disdained    their   rude 
sport.    And  I  sincerely  felt  that  it  was  better 
for  me  to  be  where  I  was,  occupied  with 
putting  the  many-colored  family  of  the  Pur- 
pura  and  the  twenty  three  varieties  of  the 
Gastropoda  in  order. 

But  nevertheless  the  gay  and  merry  peo- 
ple in  the  street  troubled  me  strangely. 
And,  as  was  usual  with  me  when  I  felt  dis- 
tressed, I  went  down  to  look  for  my  mother 
for  the  purpose  of  begging  her  to  come 
up  to  keep  me  company.  Astonished  at 
my  request  (for  I  scarcely  ever  asked  any 
one  into  my  den),  astonished  especially  by 
my  anxious  manner,  she  said  with  an  air 
of  pleasantry  that  it  was  silly  for  a  boy  of 


134         tTbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

ten  to  be  afraid  to  stay  alone ;  but  she  con* 
sented  to  return  -with  me,  and  when  there 
she  seated  herself  close  to  me  and  occupied 
herself  with  a  piece  of  embroidery.  Oh ! 
how  reassuring  was  her  sweet  and  darling 
presence !  I  returned  to  my  task  without 
concerning  myself  further  about  the  noise 
of  the  maskers,  and  as  I  worked  I  glanced 
up  now  and  again  to  look  at  her  beautiful 
profile  cut  in  silhouette,  because  of  the  dark- 
ness without,  upon  my  tiny  window-pane. 


Stors  ot  a  Cbflfc*         135 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

I  AM  surprised  that  I  cannot  recall  whether 
my  desire  to  become  a  minister  trans- 
formed itself  into  a  wish  to  lead  the  more 
militant  life  of  missionary,  by  a  slow  process, 
or  suddenly. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  change  must  have 
come  at  a  very  early  period.  For  a  long 
time  I  had  taken  an  interest  in  Protestant 
missions,  especially  in  those  established  in 
Southern  Africa,  among  the  Bassoutos. 
During  my  childhood  we  subscribed  for  the 
"  Messenger,"  a  monthly  journal  that  had 
for  frontispiece  an  interesting  picture  which, 
very  early  in  my  life,  made  a  forcible  impres- 
sion upon  me. 

This  picture  held  a  higher  place  in  my 
regard  than  those  of  which  I  have  already 
spoken,  but  by  no  means  because  of  its  execu- 
tion, its  color  or  background.  It  represented 
an  impossible  pine  tree  growing  at  the  edge 
of  a  sea,  behind  which  a  resplendent  sun 
was  setting,  and,  at  the  foot  of  the  tree, 
there  was  a  young  savage  who  was  watch- 
ing the  approach  of  a  ship,  from  a  distant 


136         ^be  Stors  of  a  dbilt>, 

point  upon  the  horizon,  that  was  bringing 
to  him  the  glad  tidings  of  Salvation. 

Early  in  my  life,  when  from  the  warm 
depths  of  my  soft  and  downy  nest,  I  looked 
out  upon  a  yet  formless  world,  that  picture 
evoked  many  dreams ;  later  when  I  was 
more  capable  of  appreciating  the  extreme 
crudity  of  the  design,  that  huge  sun,  half- 
engulfed  in  the  sea,  and  that  tiny  mission- 
boat  sailing  towards  the  unknown  shores 
still  had  a  very  great  charm  for  me. 

Now  when  they  questioned  me  I  replied : 
"  I  expect  to  be  a  missionary."  But  I  spoke 
in  a  low  voice,  in  the  voice  of  one  not  sure  of 
himself,  and  I  felt  that  they  no  longer  be- 
lieved in  my  asseverations.  Even  my  mother, 
when  she  heard  my  response,  smiled  sadly. 

Doubtless  my  answer  exceeded  what  she 
expected  from  my  faith  ;  —  probably  she  said 
to  herself  that  it  was  never  to  be ;  no  doubt 
she  thought  that  I  would  become  something 
very  different,  in  all  probability  something 
less  desirable,  that  it  was  impossible  at  this 
time  to  foresee. 

This  determination  of  mine  to  become  a 
missionary  seemed  to  solve  my  every  prob- 
lem. It  would  mean  long  voyages  and  an 
adventurous,  perilous  life, — but  the  journeys 
would  be  undertaken  in  the  service  of  the 
Lord,  and  the  dangers  endured  for  His 


ITbe  Stors  of  a  Cbil&*         137 

blessed  cause.     That  solution  brought  me 
great  tranquillity  for  a  long  time. 

After  having  thus  won  peace  for  my  reli- 
gious conscience,  I  feared  to  dwell  upon  the 
thought  lest  it  should  disclose  some  unex- 
pected weaknesses.  But  still  the  chill  waters 
of  commonplace  sermons,  with  their  endless 
repetitions  and  stock  phrases,  continued  to 
flow  over  and  wash  away  my  early  faith. 
My  shrinking  from  life  increased  rather  than 
diminished.  There  seemed  to  hang  between 
me  and  the  years  to  come  a  great  curtain 
whose  heavy  folds  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  lift. 


138         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

IN  preceding  chapters  I  have  not  said  much 
about  that  Limoise  which  was  the  scene 
of  my  initiation  into  nature  and  its  wonders. 
My  entire  childhood  is  intimately  connected 
with  that  little  corner  of  the  world,  with 
its  ancient  forests  of  oak  trees,  and  its  rocky 
moorlands  covered  here  and  there  with  a 
carpet  of  wild-thyme  and  heather. 

For  ten  or  twelve  glorious  summers  I 
went  there  to  spend  my  Thursday  holidays, 
and  I  dreamed  of  it  during  the  dreary  inter- 
vening days  of  study. 

In  May  our  friends  the  D 's  and  Lucette 

went  to  their  country  home  and  remained 
until  vintage  time,  usually  until  after  the 
first  October  frost,  —  and  regularly  every 
Wednesday  evening  I  was  taken  there. 

Nothing  in  my  estimation  was  so  delightful 
as  that  journey  to  Limoise.  "We  scarcely 
ever  went  in  a  carriage,  for  it  was  not  more 
than  three  and  a  half  miles  distant ;  to  me, 
however,  it  seemed  very  far,  almost  lost  in 
the  woods.  It  lay  toward  the  south,  in  the 
direction  of  those  distant,  sunny  lands  I 


ttbe  Stors  ot  a  Cbilfc.         139 

loved  to  think  of.  (I  'would  have  found  it 
less  charming  had  it  been  towards  the 
north.) 

Every  Wednesday  evening,  at  sunset,  the 
hour  therefore  varying  with  the  month,  I 
left  home  accompanied  by  Lucette's  elder 
brother,  a  grown  boy  of  eighteen  or  twenty, 
who  seemed  to  me  a  man  of  mature  age. 
As  far  as  I  was  able  I  tried  to  keep  pace 
with  him,  and,  in  consequence,  I  was  obliged 
to  go  more  rapidly  than  when  I  walked  with 
my  father  and  sister ;  we  went  through  the 
quiet  streets  lying  near  the  ramparts,  and 
passed  the  sailors'  old  barracks,  the  sounds 
of  whose  bugles  and  drums  reached  as  far 
as  my  attic  museum  when  the  south-wind 
blew ;  then  we  passed  through  the  fortifica- 
tions by  the  most  ancient  of  its  gray  gates, — 
a  gate  almost  abandoned,  and  used  now  prin- 
cipally by  peasants  with  flocks  of  sheep  and 
droves  of  cattle,  —  and  finally  we  arrived  at 
the  road  that  led  to  the  river. 

A  mile  and  a  half  of  straight  road  stretched 
before  us,  and  this  path  lay  between  stunted 
old  trees  yellow  with  lichens  whose  branches 
were  blown  to  the  left  by  the  force  of  the 
sea-winds  that  almost  constantly  came  from 
the  west,  sweeping  over  the  broad  and  level 
meadows  that  lay  between  us  and  the  ocean. 

To    those  who    have  a    conventionalized 


140         ZTbe  Stors  of  a  CbUt>* 

idea  of  country  beauty,  and  to  whom  a 
charming  landscape  means  a  river  winding 
its  way  between  poplars,  or  a  mountain 
crowned  by  an  old  castle,  this  level  road 
would  look  very  ugly. 

But  I  found  it  exquisite  in  spite  of  its 
straight  lines.  Upon  the  left  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  but  grassy  meadow-land 
over  which  herds  of  cattle  strayed.  And 
before  us,  in  the  distance,  something  that  re- 
sembled a  line  of  ramparts  shut  in  the  plains 
sadly  :  it  was  the  edge  of  a  rocky  plateau  at 
whose  base  flowed  the  river.  The  far  bank 
of  this  river  was  higher  than  the  side  that 
we  were  on,  and  was,  in  some  respects,  of 
a  different  character,  but  for  the  most  part 
it  was  as  flat  and  monotonous.  And  it  is  just 
this  sameness  that  has  so  much  charm  for 
mes  an  attraction  appreciated  seemingly  by 
few  others.  The  great  level  plains  with 
their  calm  and  tranquil  straight  lines  are 
deeply  and  profoundly  inspiring. 

There  is  nothing  in  our  vicinity  that  I  love 
any  better  than  the  old  road  ;  perhaps  I  have 
an  affection  for  it  because,  during  my  school- 
boy days,  I  built  so  many  castles-in-Spain 
upon  those  flat  plains  where,  from  time  to 
time,  I  find  them  again.  It  is  one  of  the 
few  spots  that  has  not  been  disfigured  by 
factories,  docks  and  railways.  It  seems  a 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbfifc.         141 

spot  that  belongs  peculiarly  to  me,  and 
certainly  no  one  has  the  power  to  contest 
my  spiritual  right  to  it. 

The  sum  of  the  charm  of  the  sensuous 
world  dwells  in  us,  is  an  emanation  from 
ourselves ;  it  is  we  who  diffuse  it,  each 
person  for  himself  according  to  his  power, 
and  we  have  it  back  again  in  the  measure 
of  our  out-giving.  But  I  did  not  compre- 
hend early  enough  the  deep  meaning  of  this 
well-known  truth.  .  .  .  During  my  child- 
hood and  youth  the  charm  seemed  to  reside 
in  the  thing  itself,  to  have  its  habitation  in 
the  old  walls  and  the  honeysuckle  of  my 
garden ;  I  thought  it  lay  along  the  sandy 
shores  of  the  Island  and  upon  the  grassy 
meadows  and  rocky  moorland  about  me. 
Later  on,  in  pouring  out  my  admiration 
every  where,  as  I  did,  I  drew  too  heavily 
upon  the  well-spring — I  exhausted  it  at  the 
source.  And,  alas !  I  find  the  land  of  my 
childhood,  to  which  I  will  no  doubt  re- 
turn to  die,  changed  and  shrunken,  and 
only  for  a  moment,  in  certain  spots,  am  I 
able  to  recreate  the  illusions  I  have  lost ; 
—  there  I  am  for  the  most  part  weighed 
down  by  the  crushing  memories  of  bygone 
days.  .  .  . 

As  I  was  saying  before  my  digression, 
every  Wednesday  evening  I  walked  with  a 


142         Ube  Stors  of  a/Cbilb* 

light  and  joyous  step  alofig  the  road  that 
led  towards  those  distant  /ocks  lying  at  the 
boundary  of  the  plains,  I  went  gayly  towards 
that  region  of  oak  trees  arid  mossy  stones  in 
which  Limoise  was  situaied,  —  my  imagina- 
%  tion  greatly  magnified  it  in  those  days. 

The  river  we  had  to  cross  was  at  the  end 
of  the  straight  avenue  of  lichened  trees  so 
harried  by  the  west  winds.  The  river  was 
very  changeable,  being  subject  to  the  tides 
and  to  all  the  moods  of  the  neighboring 
ocean.  We  crossed  in  a  ferry-boat  or  a 
yawl,  always  having  for  our  oarsmen  old 
sailors  with  bleached  beards  and  sunburnt 
faces  whom  we  had  known  from  earliest 
childhood. 

When  we  reached  the  other  bank,  the 
rocky  one,  I  always  had  a  curious  optical 
illusion  :  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  town  from 
which  we  had  come,  and  whose  gray  ram- 
parts we  still  could  see,  suddenly  drew  very 
far  away  from  us,  for  in  my  young  head 
distances  exaggerated  themselves  strangely. 
Upon  this  side  all  was  different,  the  soil,  the 
grass,  the  wild  flowers  ;  and  even  the  butter- 
flies that  hovered  over  them ;  nothing  here 
was  like  those  approaches  to  our  town  in 
whose  fens  and  meadows  I  took  my  daily 
•walk.  And  the  differences,  which  perhaps 
others  would  not  have  noticed,  thrilled  and 


Ube  S.torp  of  a  CbUfc*         143 

charmed  me,  for  it  had  been  my  habit  to 
spend,  perhaps  to  waste,  my  time  in  observ- 
ing the  infinitesimally  small  things  in  nature, 
and  I  had  often  lost  myself  in  contemplation 
of  the  lowliest  mosses.  Even  the  twilights 
of  these  Wednesday  evenings  had  about 
them  something  distinctive  and  peculiar 
which  I  cannot  express ;  generally  we 
reached  the  far  shore  just  as  the  sun  was 
setting,  and  we  watched  it,  from  the  height 
of  the  lonely  plateau,  disappear  behind  the 
tall  meadow-grass  through  which  we  had 
but  newly  come,  and  as  it  sunk,  its  great 
ruddy  disk  seemed  uncommonly  large. 

After  crossing  the  river  we  turned  off  the 
high-road  and  took  an  unfrequented  way  that 
led  through  a  region  called  "  Chaumes,"  a 
very  beautiful  place  at  that  time  but  horribly 
profaned  to-day. 

"  Chaumes  "  lay  at  the  entrance  of  a  vil- 
lage whose  ancient  church  we  saw  in  the 
distance.  As  it  was  public  property  it  had 
kept  intact  its  native  wildness.  This 
"  Chaumes  "  was  a  sort  of  table-land  com- 
posed of  a  single  stone,  and  this  rock,  which 
undulated  slightly,  was  covered  with  a  car- 
pet of  short,  dry,  fragrant  plants  that  snapped 
under  our  feet ;  and  a  whole  world  of  tiny 
gayly-colored  butterflies  and  tinier  moths 
fluttered  among  the  rare  and  delicate  flowers 
growing  there. 


144         ttbe  Stors  of  a  (TbUfc. 

Sometimes  we  passed  a  flock  of  sheep 
guarded  by  a  shepherd  much  more  countri- 
fied looking  and  more  tanned  than  those 
seen  in  the  meadows  about  our  town. 
Lonely  and  sun-scorched,  Chaumes  seemed 
to  me  the  very  threshold  of  Limoise  :  it  had 
its  very  odor,  the  mingled  scent  of  wild- 
thyme  and  sweet  marjoram. 

At  the  end  of  the  rocky  moor  was  the 
hamlet  of  Frelin.  I  love  this  name  of  Frelin, 
for  I  think  of  it  as  being  derived  from  those 
large  and  fierce  hornets  (frelons)  that  build 
their  nests  in  the  heart  of  a  certain  species 
of  oak  tree  found  in  the  forests  of  Limoise  ; 
to  get  rid  of  these  pests  it  is  necessary,  in 
the  springtime,  to  build  great  fires  around 
the  infested  trees.  This  hamlet  was  com- 
posed of  three  or  four  cottages.  They  were 
all  low,  as  is  the  custom  of  our  country, 
and  they  were  old,  very  old  and  gray ;  above 
the  little  rounded  doorways  were  half- 
effaced  ornamental  Gothic  scrolls  and  bla- 
zonments.  I  scarcely  ever  saw  them  except 
at  dusk,  as  twilight  was  falling,  and  the  hour, 
and  the  quaint  little  houses  themselves, 
awoke  in  me  an  appreciation  of  the  mystery 
of  their  past ;  above  all  these  humble  dwell- 
ings attested  to  the  antiquity  of  this  rocky 
ground,  so  much  older  than  the  meadows  of 
our  town  which  had  been  won  from  the  sea, 


TTbe  Stors  of  a  <rbftt>.          145 

and  where  nothing  that  dates  before  the  time 
of  Louis  XIV  is  to  be  found. 

As  soon  as  we  left  Frelin  I  commenced 
to  look  eagerly  along  the  path  ahead  of  me, 
for  after  that  we  usually  spied  Lucette, 
either  afoot  or  in  a  carriage,  coming  to 
meet  us.  As  soon  as  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  her  I  would  run  ahead  to  embrace  her. 

On  our  way  through  the  village  we  passed 
the  tiny  church,  a  wonder  of  the  twelfth 
century,  built  in  the  rarest  and  most  ancient 
Romanesque  style  ;  —  and  then  as  the  shad- 
ows of  evening  deepened  we  saw,  in  the 
semi-darkness  before  us,  something  that 
had  the  form  of  tall,  dark  legions:  it  was 
the  forest  of  Limoise,  composed  almost 
wholly  of  evergreen  oaks,  whose  foliage  is 
very  dark  and  sombre.  We  then  came  into 
the  road  leading  directly  to  the  house;  on 
our  way  we  passed  the  well  where  the 
patient,  thirsty  cattle  awaited  their  turn  to 
drink.  And  finally  we  opened  the  little  old 
gate,  and  traversed  the  first  grassy  court- 
yard which  the  shadowing  trees,  a  century 
old,  plunged  into  almost  total  darkness. 

The  house  lay  between  this  courtyard 
and  a  large  uncultivated  garden  that  ex- 
tended to  the  edge  of  the  oak  forest.  As 
we  entered  the  ancient  dwelling,  with  its 
whitewashed -walls  and  old-fashioned  wains- 


146         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

coting,  I  always  looked  eagerly  for  my  but- 
terfly-net, that  was  usually  to  be  found 
hanging  in  the  place  where  I  had  left  it, 
ready  for  the  next  day's  chase. 

After  dinner  it  was  our  custom  to  go  to 
the  foot  of  the  garden,  and  there  we  sat  in 
an  arbor  that  was  built  against  the  old  wall 
encircling  the  yard,  —  this  bower  faced  away 
from  the  unfriendly  darkness  of  the  woods 
where  the  owls  hooted.  And  while  we 
were  seated  in  the  beautiful,  mild,  star-be- 
spangled night,  suddenly  upon  the  air,  musical 
with  the  chirping  of  myriad  crickets,  there 
was  heard  the  tolling  of  a  bell,  —  heard  very 
clearly  by  us  although  it  came  from  afar  off, — 
it  was  the  church  bell  in  the  village  announ- 
cing the  evening  service. 

Oh !  the  vesper  bell  of  Echillais  heard  in 
that  beautiful  garden  long  ago !  Oh !  the 
sound  of  that  bell,  a  little  cracked  but  still 
silvery,  like  the  once-beautiful  voices  of  very 
old  people  which  still  retain  something  of 
their  sweetness.  What  charm  of  past  times, 
and  half-sad  meditations  of  peaceful  death, 
were  awakened  by  that  music  which  spread 
itself  into  the  limpid  darkness  of  the  sur- 
rounding country !  And  we  heard  the  bell 
chiming  for  a  long  time,  but  its  sound 
reached  us  fitfully;  one  while  it  seemed  to 
be  near,  and  then  again  it  seemed  far  away, 


Ube  Stors  of  a  <TbUfc,         147 

as  it  obeyed  the  will  of  the  soft'  night  wind 
that  was  stirring.  I  bethought  me  of  all 
those  who,  on  their  lonely  farms,  were  lis- 
tening to  it ;  I  bethought  me,  too,  of  all  the 
unpeopled  places  round  about,  where  it 
would  be  heard  by  no  one,  and  a  shudder 
passed  through  me  at  the  thought  of  the 
near-by  forest,  where  the  sweet  vibrations 
of  the  bell  would  die. 

The  municipal  council,  composed  of  very 
superior  spirits,  after  having  first  put  its 
everlasting  tri-colored  flag  upon  the  steeple 
of  the  little  Roman  Catholic  Church,  then 
suppressed  its  vesper  bell.  Its  day  is  done  ; 
and  we  shall  never  again,  upon  summer 
eveings,  hear  that  call  to  prayers. 

Going  to  bed  here  was  always  a  very  en- 
livening proceeding,  especially  when  there 
was  the  prospect  of  a  whole  Thursday  of 
play  before  me.  I  would,  I  am  sure,  have 
been  very  much  afraid  in  the  guest  chamber, 
which  -was  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  great, 
isolated  house ;  but  until  my  twelfth  year  I 
slept  on  the  floor  above,  in  the  spacious 
room  occupied  by  Lucette's  mother ;  —  with 
the  aid  of  screens  they  had  made  for  me  a 
little  room  of  my  own.  In  this  retreat  there 
was  a  book-case  with  glass  doors  that  be- 
longed to  the  time  of  Louis  XIV  ;  this  was 
filled  with  treatises,  a  century  old,  upon 


148        ttbe  Stors  of  a  Gbflfc, 

navigation,  and  -with  sailors'  log-books  that 
had  not  been  opened  for  a  hundred  years. 
Tiny,  scarce-visible  butterflies,  that  entered 
by  the  open  -windows,  were  to  be  found  here 
all  summer  long,  sleeping  with  extended 
wings  upon  the  whitewashed  walls.  And 
often  the  most  exciting  incident  of  the  day 
happened  just  as  I  was  falling  asleep ;  some- 
times then  an  unwelcome  bat  found  his  way 
into  the  room  and  circled  wildly  about  the 
lighted  candles  ;  or  an  enormous  moth  buzzed 
in  and  we  would  chase  him  with  a  cobweb- 
broom.  Or  again  a  storm  descended  upon 
us  and  the  great  trees  lashed  their  branches 
against  the  house,  and  the  old  shutters 
slammed  back  and  forth,  and  we  waked  with 
a  start. 

I  recall  vividly  the  effect  that  those  terrify- 
ing but  magnificent  storms  had  upon  me  in 
that  time  when  all  things  were  grander  than 
they  are  to-day,  when  all  things  throbbed 
and  palpitated  with  a  more  intense  life. 


Ube  Storg  of  a  Cbilfc,         149 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

NOW  comes  the  apparition  of  another  little 
friend  who  stood  very  high  in  my 
childish  favor.  As  nearly  as  I  can  remem- 
ber I  became  acquainted  with  her  when  I 
was  eleven  ;  Antoinette  had  left  the  country  ; 
Veronica  was  forgotten. 

Her  name  was  Jeanne,  and  she  was  the 
youngest  member  of  a  naval  officer's  family, 

that  like  the  D 's  had  been  bound  up  in 

friendship  with  ours  for  more  than  a  century. 
As  she  was  two  or  three  years  younger  than 
I,  I  had  at  first  taken  but  little  notice  of  her 
—  probably  I  thought  her  too  babyish. 

Her  face  was  as  droll  as  a  little  kitten's,  and 
it  was  impossible  to  tell  from  the  pinched- 
up  features  whether  she  would  become 
pretty  or  ugly ;  but  she  had  a  certain  grace, 
and  when  she  was  eight  or  nine  years  old 
her  face  became  very  sweet  and  charming. 
She  was  very  roguish,  and  as  friendly  as  I 
was  diffident;  and  as  she  darted  about  in 
those  childish  dances  we  sometimes  had  in 
the  evenings,  and  from  which  I  held  myself 
aloof,  she  seemed  to  me  the  extreme  of 
worldly  elegance  and  coquetry. 


150         ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 

But  in  spite  of  the  great  intimacy  between 
our  families,  it  was  evident  that  her  parents 
looked  upon  our  friendship  with  disfavor, 
they  probably  thought  it  unseemly  that  she 
had  chosen  a  boy  for  her  companion.  This 
knowledge  caused  me  much  suffering,  and 
the  impressions  of  my  childhood  were  so 
vivid  and  persistent  that  I  did  not,  until 
many  years  had  passed,  until  I  became  quite 
a  grown  youth,  pardon  her  father  and  mother 
the  humiliation  they  had  caused  me. 

It  therefore  resulted  that  my  desire  to 
play  with  her  increased  greatly.  And  she, 
knowing  this,  was  as  perverse  as  a  princess 
in  a  fairy  tale ;  she  laughed  mercilessly  at 
my  timid  ways,  at  my  awkward  manners 
and  my  ungraceful  fashion  of  entering  the 
parlor;  there  was  kept  up  between  us  a 
constant  interchange  of  playful  raillery,  an 
oral  stream  of  inimitable  pleasantry. 

When  I  was  invited  to  spend  the  day  with 
her  the  prospect  gave  me  the  greatest  joy, 
but  the  aftertaste  of  the  visit  was  generally 
bitter,  for  usually  I  committed  some  morti- 
fying blunder  in  that  family  where  I  felt 
myself  so  misunderstood.  Every  time  I 
wished  to  have  Jeanne  at  my  house  for  din- 
ner it  was  necessary  for  my  aunt  Bertha, 
who  was  a  person  of  authority  in  the  eyes 
of  Jeanne's  parents,  to  arrange  the  matter 
for  me. 


Stors  of  a  Cbflfc*         151 

Upon  one  occasion,  when  little  Jeanne 
returned  from  Paris,  she  related  to  me  the 
story  of  the  "  Donkey's  Skin,"  which  she 
had  seen  acted  at  the  theatre  in  the  city. 

Her  time  so  spent  was  not  lost,  for  the 
"  Donkey's  Skin"  was  destined  to  occupy 
a  prominent  place  in  my  life  during  the 
next  four  or  five  years,  the  hours  that  I 
wasted  upon  it  were  more  preciously  squan- 
dered than  -were  any  others  in  my  life. 

Together  we  conceived  the  idea  of  mount- 
ing the  piece  upon  the  stage  of  my  miniature 
theatre.  That  play  of  the  "  Donkey's  Skin  " 
brought  us  together  very  often.  And  little 
by  little  the  project  assumed  gigantic  pro- 
portions ;  it  grew  as  the  months  sped,  and 
amused  us  in  ever  increasing  measure ;  in- 
deed, in  proportion  to  the  degree  of  perfec- 
tion to  which  we  were  able  to  bring  our 
conception,  did  we  enjoy  it.  We  manufac- 
tured fantastic  decorations  ;  we  dressed,  so 
that  they  might  take  part  in  the  processions, 
innumerable  little  dolls.  It  will  be  neces- 
sary for  me  to  speak  often  of  that  fairy  spec- 
tacle, which  was  one  of  the  important  things 
of  my  childhood. 

And  even  after  Jeanne  tired  of  it  I  worked 
over  it  alone,  and  I  fairly  outdid  myself  by 
undertaking  enterprises  that  seemed  grand 
to  me,  such,  for  instance,  as  my  efforts  to 


152         Ube  Stors  of  a  <TbfR>. 

represent  moonlight,  great  conflagrations  and 
storms.  I  also  made  marvellous  palaces  and 
gardens  wonderful  as  Aladdin's.  All  my 
dreams  of  enchanted  regions,  of  strange 
tropical  luxuries,  which  I  later  found  in  the 
distant  corners  of  the  world,  took  form  in  the 
little  play  of  the  "  Donkey's  Skin."  Leaving 
out  the  mystical  experiences  at  the  com- 
mencement of  my  life,  I  can  affirm  that  almost 
all  my  fancies  had  their  essay  on  that  tiny 
stage.  I  was  nearly  fifteen  when  the  last 
decorations,  unfinished  ones,  were  laid  away 
forever  in  the  cardboard  box  that  served 
them  for  a  peaceful  tomb. 

And  since  I  have  anticipated  their  future  I 
will  say  in  conclusion  that  in  later  years, 
when  Jeanne  had  grown  into  a  beautiful 
woman,  upon  numerous  occasions  we  have 
planned  to  open  the  box  where  our  little 
dolls  are  sleeping.  But  we  live  our  life 
so  rapidly  that  we  seem  never  to  find  the 
time,  nor  will  we,  I  fear,  ever  find  it. 

Later  our  children  may,  —  or  who  can  tell, 
perhaps  our  grandchildren !  Upon  some 
future  day,  when  we  are  forgotten,  our  un- 
known descendants,  in  ferreting  to  the  bot- 
tom of  old  cupboards,  will  be  astonished 
to  find  there  numberless  little  creatures, 
nymphs,  fairies  and  genii,  all  dressed  by 
our  hands. 


Stors  of  a  Gbiifc.         153 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

IT  is  said  that  many  children  who  live  in 
the  central  provinces,  away  from  the 
ocean,  have  a  great  longing  to  see  it.  I  who 
had  never  been  away  from  the  monotonous 
country  surrounding  us  looked  forward 
eagerly  to  seeing  the  mountains. 

I  tried  to  imagine  them ;  I  had  seen  pic- 
tures of  several,  and  I  had  even  painted  them 
for  the  "  Donkey's  Skin."  My  sister,  when 
she  visited  Lake  Lucerne,  sent  me  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  mountains,  and  wrote  me  long 
letters  about  them,  such  as  are  seldom  ad- 
dressed to  a  child  of  my  age.  And  my  ideas 
were  further  extended  by  some  photographs 
of  glaciers  that  my  sister  brought  me  for  my 
magic-lantern.  I  desired  with  all  my  heart 
to  see  the  mountains  themselves. 

One  day,  as  if  in  answer  to  my  wish,  there 
came  a  letter  that  created  quite  a  stir  in  our 
house.  It  was  from  a  first  cousin  of  my 
father,  who  had  at  one  time  regarded  my 
father  with  a  brotherly  love,  but  for  thirty 
years,  for  some  reason  unknown  to  me,  this 
cousin  had  not  written  or  given  any  sign  of 
life. 


154         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

At  the  time  of  my  birth,  all  talk  of  him  had 
ceased  in  the  family,  and  I  was  ignorant  of 
his  existence.  And  now  he  wrote  and  begged 
that  the  old  bond  might  be  renewed  ;  he  was 
living,  he  said,  in  a  little  southern  village, 
in  the  heart  of  the  Swiss  Mountains.  He 
announced  that  he  had  two  sons  and  a  daugh- 
ter about  the  age  of  my  brother  and  sister. 
His  letter  was  very  affectionate,  and  my 
father  responded  to  it  in  like  manner  and 
told  his  cousin  all  about  us,  his  three  chil- 
dren. 

The  correspondence  having  continued,  it 
was  arranged  that  I  should  spend  my  next 
vacation  with  my  relatives ;  my  sister  was 
to  take  me  there  and  play  the  part  of  mother 
as  she  had  done  during  our  visit  to  the 
Island. 

The  south,  the  mountains,  this  sudden 
extension  of  my  horizon,  the  cousins  who 
seemed  literally  to  have  fallen  from  the  sky, 
became  the  subject  of  my  constant  reveries 
until  the  month  of  August,  the  time  set  for 
our  departure. 


Ube  Stors  ot  a  C&U&,         155 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

T  ITTLE  Jeanne  had  come  over  to  spend 
I— '  the  day  at  our  house;  it  was  at  the 
end  of  May  during  that  spring  in  which  my 
expectations  were  so  great  —  I  was  twelve 
years  old  at  the  time.  All  the  afternoon  we 
rehearsed  with  our  tiny,  jointed  china  dolls, 
and  painted  scenery  ;  we  had  in  fact  been 
busy  with  the  "  Donkey's  Skin,"  —but  with 
a  revised  and  grand  version  of  it,  and  we 
had  about  us  a  great  confusion  of  paints, 
brushes,  pieces  of  cardboard,  gilt  paper  and 
bits  of  gauze.  When  it  came  time  for  us 
to  go  down  into  the  dining-room  we  stored 
our  precious  work  away  in  a  large  box  that 
was  consecrated  to  it  from  that  day  forth  — 
the  box  was  a  new  one  made  of  pine,  and  it 
had  a  penetrating,  resinous  odor. 

After  our  dinner,  at  dusk,  we  were  taken 
out  for  a  walk.  But,  to  my  surprise  and 
sorrow,  we  found  it  chilly,  and  the  sky  was 
overcast,  and  every  where  there  was  a  sort 
of  mist  that  recalled  winter  to  my  mind. 
Instead  of  going  beyond  the  town,  to  the 
places  usually  frequented  by  pedestrians, 


156         ttbe  Stors  of  a  dbflfc. 

•we  -went  towards  the  Marine  Garden,  a 
much  prettier  and  more  suitable  walk,  but 
one  usually  deserted  after  sunset. 

We  went  down  the  long  straight  street 
without  meeting  any  one ;  as  we  drew  near 
the  "  Chapel  of  the  Orphans "  we  heard 
those  within  chanting  a  psalm.  "When  that 
•was  finished, a  procession  of  little  girls  filed 
out.  They  were  dressed  in  white,  and  they 
looked  very  cold  in  their  spring  muslins. 
After  making  a  circuit  of  the  lonely  quar- 
ter, chanting  meanwhile  a  melancholy  hymn, 
they  noiselessly  re-entered  the  chapel.  There 
was  no  one  in  the  street  to  see  them  save 
ourselves,  and  the  thought  came  to  me  that 
neither  was  there  any  one  in  the  gray  heav- 
ens above  to  see  them ;  the  overcast  sky 
seemed  as  lonely  as  the  solitary  street. 
That  little  band  of  orphaned  children  in- 
tensified my  feeling  of  sorrow  and  added  to 
the  disenchantment  of  the  May  night,  and 
I  had  a  consciousness  of  the  vanity  of 
prayer,  of  the  emptiness  of  all  things. 

In  the  Marine  Garden  my  sadness  in- 
creased. It  •was  extremely  cold,  and  we 
shivered  in  our  light  spring  -wraps.  There 
was  not  a  single  promenader  to  be  seen. 
The  large  chestnut  trees  all  abloom  and  the 
foliage,  in  the  glory  of  its  tender  hue,  formed 
a  feathery  green  and  white  avenue  —  empti- 


Stors  of  a  Cbtl^          157 

ness  was  here  too  ;  all  of  this  intertwined 
magnificence  of  branch  and  flower,  seen  of 
no  one,  unfolded  itself  to  the  indifferent 
sky  that  stretched  above  it  cold  and  gray. 
And  in  the  long  flower  beds  there  was  a 
profusion  of  roses,  peonies  and  lilies  that 
seemed  also  to  have  mistaken  the  season, 
for  they  appeared  to  shiver,  as  we  did,  in  the 
chill  twilight. 

I  have  found  that  the  melancholy  one 
sometimes  feels  in  the  springtime  usually 
transcends  that  felt  in  autumn,  for  the 
reason,  doubtless,  that  the  former  is  so  out 
of  harmony  with  the  promise  of  the  sea- 
son. 

The  demoralized  state  into  which  I  was 
thrown  by  everything  about  me  gave  me  a 
longing  to  play  a  boyish  trick  upon  Jeanne. 
There  came  to  me  a  desire  (one  that  I  fre- 
quently felt)  to  have  some  sort  of  revenge 
upon  her,  because  her  disposition  was  so 
much  more  mature  and  yet  more  sprightly 
thasi  mine.  I  induced  her  to  lean  over  and 
smell  the  lovely  lilies,  and  while  she  was 
doing  so  I,  by  giving  her  head  a  very  slight 
push,  buried  her  nose  deep  in  the  flowers, 
and  it  became  covered  with  yellow  pollen. 
She  was  indignant !  And  the  thought  that  I 
had  acted  so  rudely  tended  to  make  the  walk 
home  a  very  painful  one. 


158         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc, 

The  beautiful  evenings  of  May !  Had  I 
not  cherished  memories  of  those  of  preced- 
ing years,  or  had  they  in  truth  been  like  this 
one  ?  Like  this  one  in  the  cold  and  lonely 
garden?  Had  they  ended  so  miserably  as 
did  this  play-day  with  Jeanne?  With  a  feel- 
ing of  mortal  weariness  I  said  to  myself: 
"And  is  this  all!"  an  exclamation  which 
soon  afterwards  became  one  of  my  most 
frequent  unspoken  reflections,  a  phrase  in- 
deed that  I  might  well  have  taken  for  my 
motto. 

When  we  returned  I  went  to  the  wooden 
box  to  inspect  our  afternoon's  work,  and  as  I 
did  so  I  inhaled  the  balsamic  odor  that  had 
impregnated  everything  belonging  to  our 
theatre.  For  a  long  time  after  that,  for  a 
year  or  two,  perhaps  longer,  the  odor  of  the 
pine  box  containing  the  properties  of  the 
"  Donkey's  Skin  "  recalled  vividly  that  May 
evening  so  filled  with  poignant  sorrow,  which 
was  one  of  the  most  singular  feelings  of  my 
childhood.  Since  I  have  come  to  man's 
estate  I  no  longer  suffer  from  anguish  that 
has  no  known  cause,  doubly  hard  to  endure 
because  mysterious;  I  no  longer  feel  as  if 
my  feet  are  treading  unfathomable  depths 
in  search  of  a  firm  bottom.  I  no  longer 
suffer  without  knowing  why.  No,  such 
emotions  belonged  peculiarly  to  my  child- 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbiib,        159 

hood,  and  this  book  could  properly  bear  the 
title  (a  dangerous  one  I  well  know):  "A 
Journal  of  my  extreme  and  inexplicable 
sorrows,  and  some  of  the  boyish  pranks  by 
which  I  diverted  my  mind  from  them," 


160         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbtlb. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

IT  was  about  this  time  that  I  installed  my- 
self in  my  aunt  Claire's  room  for  the 
purpose  of  study,  and  there  too  I  busied  my- 
self manufacturing  wonders  for  the  "  Don- 
key's Skin."  I  took  possession  of  the  place 
as  entirely  as  an  army  occupies  a  conquered 
country — I  would  not  admit  the  possibility 
of  being  in  the  way. 

My  aunt  Claire  was  the  person  who 
petted  me  most.  And  it  was  she  who  was 
always  so  careful  of  my  little  things.  She 
always  looked  after  any  finery  or  anything 
uncommonly  fragile,  things  that  the  least 
breath  of  air  would  have  blown  away  — 
such  exquisitely  delicate  trifles,  for  example, 
as  the  wings  of  a  butterfly,  or  the  bright 
scale  of  a  beetle,  intended  for  the  costumes 
of  our  nymphs  and  fairies  —  when  I  said  to 
her :  "  Will  you  please  take  care  of  this, 
dear  auntie?"  I  felt  that  I  could  be  easy 
about  it,  for  I  knew  that  no  one  would  be 
allowed  to  touch  it. 

One  of  the  great  attractions  in  her  room 
was  a  bear  that  was  used  for  holding  burnt- 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  (Tbilfc.          161 

almonds ;  and  I  often  visited  the  place  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  paying  my  respects  to 
this  animal.  He  was  made  of  china,  and  he 
sat  upon  his  hind  legs  in  the  corner  of  the 
mantelpiece.  According  to  a  compact  that 
I  had  with  my  aunt,  every  time  that  his 
head  was  turned  to  the  side  (and  I  found  it 
so  several  times  during  a  day)  it  meant  that 
there  was  an  almond  or  some  other  kind  of 
candy  for  me.  When  I  had  eaten  this  I 
straightened  his  head  to  indicate  that  I  had 
been  there,  and  then  I  departed. 

Aunt  Claire  enjoyed  helping  us  with  the 
"  Donkey's  Skin  "  ;  she  worked  enthusiasti- 
cally over  the  costumes  and  each  day  I  gave 
her  some  task.  She  was  especially  skilful 
in  devising  hair  for  the  fairies  and  nymphs  ; 
she  managed  to  fix  upon  their  tiny  heads, 
about  as  big  as  the  end  of  a  little  finger, 
blond  wigs  made  of  light  silk  thread  :  this 
thread  she  twined  upon  the  finest  wires  and 
thus  she  was  able  to  twist  it  into  beautiful 
ringlets. 

Then  when  it  became  absolutely  necessary 
for  me  to  study  my  lessons,  in  the  feverish 
haste  of  the  last  half  hour  that  I  reserved  for 
my  task,  after  having  wasted  my  time  in  idle- 
ness of  every  sort,  it  was  aunt  Claire  who 
came  to  my  rescue ;  she  would  open  the 
large  dictionary  and  hunt  up  for  me  the  un- 


162        Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc, 

familiar  -words  in  the  exercises  and  lessons. 
She  also  took  up  the  study  of  Greek  in  order 
to  assist  me  with  my  lessons  in  that  lan- 
guage. When  I  studied  my  Greek  I  always 
led  my  aunt  Claire  to  the  stairway,  and  I 
sprawled  there  upon  the  steps,  my  feet 
higher  than  my  head ;  for  two  or  three 
years  that  was  the  classic  pose  I  took  for  the 
study  of  the  Iliad,  or  Xenophon's  Cyropedia. 


ttbe  Stot£  of  a  CbU&.         163 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THURSDAY  evening  was  a  time  of  great 
rejoicing  with  me  whenever  a  terrible 
storm  descended  upon  Limoise,  and  thus 
made  it  impossible  for  me  to  return  home 
that  night. 

It  happened  occasionally ;  and  since  I 
had  had  the  experience,  I  used  to  hope  that 
it  might  occur  often,  and  especially  did  I 
wish  for  a  storm  when  I  had  failed  to  pre- 
pare my  lessons.  One  inhuman  professor 
had  instituted  Thursday  tasks,  and  it  was 
necessary  for  me  to  drag  my  text  and  copy- 
books with  me  to  Limoise ;  my  beloved 
holidays,  spent  in  the  sweet  open  air,  were 
overcast  by  their  dark  shadow. 

One  evening,  at  about  eight  o'clock,  the 
much-desired  storm  broke  upon  us  with 
superb  fury.  Lucette  and  I  were  in  the 
large  drawing  room  that  resounded  with  the 
noise  of  the  thunder,  and  we  felt  none  too 
safe  there.  Its  great  wall-spaces  were 
broken  by  only  two  or  three  old  engravings 
in  ancient  frames.  Lucette,  under  her 
mother's  direction,  was  putting  the  finishing 


164        Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 

touches  to  a  piece  of  needle-work,  and,  on 
the  rather  worn-out  piano,  I  was  playing, 
with  the  soft  pedal  down,  one  of  Rameau's 
dances ;  the  old-fashioned  music  sounded 
exquisite  to  me  as  it  mingled  with  the  noise 
of  the  great  thunder  claps. 

When  Lucette's  work  was  completed,  she 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  my  copy-book 
lying  on  the  table.  After  she  had  examined 
it  she  gave  me  a  meaning  look,  intended  only 
for  my  eyes,  that  said  as  plainly  as  a  look 
can  that  she  knew  I  had  neglected  my  task. 
Suddenly  she  asked  :  "Where  did  you  leave 
your  Duruy's  *  History '  ?  " 

My  Duruy's  "History"!  Where  indeed 
had  I  left  it  ?  It  was  a  new  book  with 
scarcely  a  blot  in  it.  Great  heavens  !  I  had 
forgotten  it  and  left  it  out  of  doors  at  the  far 
end  of  the  garden  in  the  most  removed 
asparagus  bed.  For  my  historical  studies  I 
had  selected  the  asparagus  bed,  which  was 
like  a  bit  of  copse,  for  the  feathery  green 
plants,  past  their  season,  grew  high  and 
luxuriant;  a  hazel  glen,  leafy  and  impene- 
trable, and  as  shady  as  a  verdant  grotto,  was 
the  spot  I  had  chosen  for  the  more  exacting 
and  laborious  work  of  Latin  versification. 
As  this  time  I  was  scolded  by  Lucette's 
mother  for  my  great  carelessness,  we  decided 
to  go  immediately  and  rescue  the  book. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  CbfU).         165 

We  organized  a  search  party,  and  at  the 
head  of  it  -went  a  servant  who  carried  a 
stable-lantern  ;  Lucette  and  I  walked  behind 
him.  Our  feet  were  protected  from  the  wet 
ground  by  wooden  shoes,  and  with  much 
difficulty  we  held  over  us  a  large  umbrella 
that  the  wind  constantly  turned  inside-out. 

Once  outside  I  was  no  longer  afraid ;  I 
opened  my  eyes  wide  and  listened  with  all 
my  ears.  Oh  !  how  wonderful,  and  yet  how- 
sinister,  the  end  of  the  garden  looked  seen 
by  those  sudden  and  great  flashes  of  green 
light  that  shimmered  and  trembled  about  us 
from  time  to  time,  and  then  left  us  blind  in 
in  the  blackness  of  the  stormy  night.  And  I 
shall  never  forget  the  impression  made  upon 
me  by  the  continual  crashing  of  the  branches 
of  the  trees  in  the  near-by  oak  forest. 

We  found  Duruy's  "History"  in  the  as- 
paragus bed  all  water-soaked  and  mud-be- 
spattered. Before  the  storm,  the  snails,  ex- 
hilarated no  doubt  by  the  promise  of  rain, 
had  crawled  over  the  book,  and  they  had  left 
their  slimy,  glistening  traces  upon  it. 

Those  snail  tracks  remained  on  the  book 
for  a  long  time,  preserved,  doubtless,  by  the 
paper  cover  that  I  put  over  them.  They  had 
the  power  to  recall  a  thousand  things  to  me, 
thanks  to  that  peculiarity  of  my  mind  that  as- 
sociates the  most  dissimilar  and  incongruous 


t66        Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbii&. 


images  if  only  once,  for  a  single  favorable 
moment,  they  have  been  accidentally  joined. 
And  therefore  the  little,  shining,  zig-zag 
marks  on  the  cover  of  Duruy  always  brought 
to  my  mind  Rameau's  gay  dance  that  I 
played  on  the  shrill  old  piano,  only  to  have 
it  drowned  by  the  noise  of  the  raging  storm  ; 
and  the  same  little  blotches  also  recall  to 
me  a  vision  that  I  had  that  night  (one,  no 
doubt,  born  of  an  engraving  by  Teniers  that 
hung  on  the  wall)  ;  there  seemed  tp  pass 
before  my  eyes  little  people  belonging  to  a 
by-gone  age,  who  danced  in  the  shade  of  a 
wood  like  that  of  Limoise  ;  the  apparition 
awakened  in  me  an  appreciation  of  the  pas- 
toral gayety  of  that  time,  a  conception  of  the 
abandon  and  joyousness  of  the  picnickers 
who  were  dancing  so  merrily  under  the 
spreading  branches  of  the  oak  trees. 


Ube  Stors  ot  a  Cbilfc.         167 


CHAPTER   XL. 

AND  yet  the  return  home  from  Limoise 
Thursday  evenings  would  have  had  a 
great  charm  but  for  the  remorse  I  almost 
always  felt  because  of  neglected  duties. 

My  friends  took  me  as  far  as  the  river  in 
the  carriage,  or  I  rode  on  a  donkey,  or  we 
walked.  Once  past  the  stony  plateau  on  the 
south  bank  of  the  river,  and  once  over  it 
and  upon  the  home  side,  I  found  my  father 
and  sister  awaiting  me ;  I  walked  gayly  beside 
them  in  the  straight  path  lying  between  the 
extensive  meadows  that  led  to  our  house. 
I  went  at  a  brisk  pace  in  my  eagerness  to 
see  mamma,  my  aunts  and  our  dear  home. 

When  we  entered  the  town,  by  the  old 
disused  gate,  it  was  always  dusk,  the  dusk 
of  a  spring  or  summer  night ;  as  we  passed 
the  barracks  we  heard  the  familiar  drums 
and  bugles  sounding  the  hour  for  the  sailors 
all-too-early  bed. 

And  when  we  arrived  at  the  house  I 
usually  spied  my  beloved  ones  (clothed  in 
their  black  dresses)  seated  in  the  honey- 
suckle arbor  at  the  end  of  the  yard,  or  they 
were  sitting  out  under  the  stars. 


168         Ube  Stors  of  a 

Or,  if  the  others  had  gone  in,  I  was  sure 
to  find  aunt  Bertha  there  alone ;  she  was  a 
very  independent  person,  and  she  dared  defy 
even  the  dew  and  evening  chill.  After  kiss- 
ing and  embracing  me  she  pretended  to 
smell  of  my  clothes,  and  after  sniffing  a 
minute,  to  make  me  laugh,  she  would  say : 
"  Ah  !  you  smell  of  Limoise,  my  darling." 

And  indeed  I  did  have  something  of  the 
fragrance  of  Limoise  about  me.  When  I 
came  from  there  I  was  always  impregnated 
with  the  odor  of  wild-thyme  and  the  other 
aromatic  plants  peculiar  to  that  part  of  the 
country. 


Stors  ot  a  Cbfl&.         169 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

SPEAKING  of  Limoise  I  will  be  vain 
enough  to  speak  here  of  an  act  of  mine 
that  I  consider  as  brave  as  it  was  obedient, 
for  it  fell  in  with  a  promise  that  I  had  given. 

It  happened  a  short  time  before  my  de- 
parture for  the  south,  before  that  journey  to 
the  mountains  with  which  my  imagination 
was  ever  busy ;  it  occurred  in  the  month  of 
July  following  my  twelfth  birthday. 

One  Wednesday,  having  started  earlier 
than  usual,  so  that  I  might  arrive  at  Li- 
moise before  nightfall,  I  begged  those  ac- 
companying me  to  go  no  farther  than  just 
beyond  the  town ;  I  entreated  them,  for  this 
once,  to  allow  me  to  make  the  journey  alone, 
as  if  I  "were  a  grown  boy. 

As  I  was  being  ferried  across  the  river,  I 
compelled  myself  to  take  from  my  pocket  the 
white  silk  handkerchief  that  I  had  promised 
to  wear  about  my  neck  to  protect  it  from  the 
cool  breezes  on  the  water ;  the  old  weather- 
beaten  sailors  were  looking  at  me,  and  I  felt 
unspeakably  ashamed  as  I  tied  the  muffler 
around  my  neck. 


170         Ube  Storp  of  a 

And  at  Chaumes,  in  that  shadeless  spot, 
a  place  always  baked  by  the  sun,  I  fulfilled 
the  pledge  that  had  been  exacted  from  me  at 
my  departure.  I  opened  a  large  sunshade  ! 
—  Oh  !  how  my  cheeks  reddened  and  how 
humiliated  I  felt  when  I  was  ridiculed  by  a 
little  shepherd-boy  who,  with  head  bared 
to  the  sun's  rays,  guarded  his  sheep.  And 
my  agony  increased  when  I  arrived  at  the 
village  and  I  saw  four  boys,  who  had  doubt- 
less just  come  from  school,  look  at  me  with 
astonishment.  My  God  !  I  felt  as  if  I  would 
faint.  It  was  true  courage  which  enabled 
me  to  keep  my  promise  at  that  moment. 

As  they  passed  they  stared  hard  as  if  to 
mock  me  for  being  afraid  of  the  sun.  One 
muttered  something  that  had  little  enough 
meaning,  but  which  I  regarded  as  a  mortal 
insult :  "  It  is  the  Marquis  of  Carabas  !  "  he 
said,  and  then  all  began  to  laugh  heartily. 
But  notwithstanding,!  continued  on  my  way 
with  my  parasol  still  open.  I  did  not  flinch 
nor  answer  them,  but  the  blood  surged  to 
my  cheeks  and  hummed  in  my  ears. 

In  the  time  that  followed  there  were  many 
occasions  when  it  was  necessary  for  me  to 
pass  upon  my  way  without  noticing  the  in- 
sults cast  at  me  by  ignorant  people ;  but  I 
do  not  recall  that  their  taunts  caused  me 
any  suffering.  But  my  experience  with  the 


t.'wrV!  .  ,,,Ty 


Stors  of  a  Cfcttb.        ,171 

•- 


parasol  !     No,  I  am  sure  that  I  have  never 
accomplished  any  braver  act  than  that. 

But  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  unnecessary 
for  me  to  seek  any  other  cause  for  my  aver- 
sion to  umbrellas,  an  aversion  that  followed 
me  into  mature  age.  And  I  attribute  to 
handkerchiefs  and  such  things,  and  to  the 
excessive  care  my  family  took  to  stop  up 
every  chink  through  which  air  might  reach 
me,  my  later  habit,  in  line  with  my  tendency 
to  reaction,  of  exposing  my  breast  to  the 
burning  rays  of  the  sun,  of  exposing  myself 
to  every  kind  of  wind  and  weather. 


172         Ube  Storp  of  a  Cbfit). 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

WITH  my  head  pressed  against  the  glass 
in  the  door  of  the  railway-coach  that 
was  going  rapidly,  I  continually  asked  my 
sister,  who  sat  opposite  : 

"  Are  we  in  the  mountains  yet  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  she  would  answer,  still  remem- 
bering the  Alps  vividly.  "  Not  yet,  dear. 
Those  are  only  high  hills." 

The  August  day  was  warm  and  radiantly 
bright.  We  were  in  an  express  train  going 
south,  on  our  way  to  visit  those  cousins 
whom  we  had  never  seen. 

"  Oh  !  but  that  one  !  See!  See!"  lex- 
claimed  triumphantly,  as  my  eyes  spied  an 
elevation  towering  above  others  ;  it  was  one 
whose  blue  height  pierced  the  clear  horizon. 

She  leaned  forward. 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "that  is  a  little  more 
like  a  mountain,  I  must  confess,  —  but  it  isn't 
a  very  high  one,  only  wait !  " 

At  the  hotel,  where  we  were  obliged  to 
remain  until  the  following  day,  everything 
interested  us.  I  remember  that  night  came 
suddenly,  a  night  of  splendor,  as  we  leaned 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc,         173 

upon  the  railing  of  the  balcony  leading  from 
our  rooms,  watching  the  shadows  gather 
about  the  blue  mountains  and  listening  to 
the  chirping  of  the  crickets. 

The  next  day,  the  third  of  our  frequently 
interrupted  journey,  we  hired  a  funny  little 
carriage  to  take  us  to  the  town,  one  much  out 
of  the  line  of  travel  at  that  time,  where  our 
cousins  lived. 

For  five  hours  we  rode  through  passes  and 
defiles  —  for  me  they  were  enchanted  hours. 
Not  only  was  there  the  novelty  of  the  moun- 
tains, but  everything  here  was  unlike  our 
home  surroundings.  The  soil  and  the  rocks 
were  a  bright  red  instead  of,  as  in  our  vil- 
lage, a  dazzling  white  because  of  the  under- 
lying chalk  beds.  And  at  home  everything 
was  flat  and  low,  it  seemed  as  if  nothing 
there  dared  lift  itself  above  the  dead  level 
and  break  the  uniformity  of  the  plains.  Here 
the  dwellings,  of  reddish  hue  like  the  rocks, 
and  built  with  old  gabled  ends  and  ancient 
turrets,  were  perched  high  up  on  the  hill ;  the 
peasants  were  very  tanned,  and  they  spoke 
a  language  I  did  not  understand ;  I  noticed 
particularly  that  the  women  walked  with 
a  free  movement  of  the  hips,  unknown  to 
the  peasants  of  our  country,  as  they  strode 
along  carrying  upon  their  heads  sheaves  of 
grain  and  great  shining  copper  vessels.  My 


174         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 

whole  being  vibrated  to  the  charm  of  the 
unfamiliar  beauty  about  me,  and  I  was  fas- 
cinated by  the  strange  aspect  of  nature. 

Toward  evening  we  reached  the  little 
town  that  marked  the  end  of  our  journey. 
It  was  situated  on  the  bank  of  one  of  those 
southern  rivers  that  rush  noisily  over  their 
shallow  beds  of  white  pebbles.  The  place 
still  retained  its  ancient  arched  gateway 
and  high,  pierced  ramparts ;  the  prevailing 
color  of  the  gothic  houses  lining  its  streets 
was  bright  red. 

A  little  perplexed  and  agitated,  our  eyes 
sought  for  the  cousins  whose  faces  were  not 
even  known  to  us  through  photographs  ;  but 
since  they  had  been  apprised  of  our  coming 
they  "would,  no  doubt,  be  at  the  station  to 
meet  us.  Suddenly  we  saw  approaching  us 
a  tall  young  man,  and  he  had  upon  his  arm  a 
young  lady  dressed  in  white  muslin.  With- 
out the  least  hesitation  we  exchanged  glances 
of  recognition  :  we  had  found  each  other. 

At  their  house,  on  the  ground  floor,  our 
uncle  and  aunt  welcomed  us ;  both  of  them 
in  their  old  age  preserved  traces  of  a  once- 
remarkable  beauty.  They  lived  in  an  ancient 
house  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIII ;  it  was 
built  in  an  angle,  and  was  surrounded  by 
those  porches  that  are  so  frequently  seen  in 
small,  southern  mountain  towns, 


TTbe  Stors  of  a  Gbifo.          175 

When  we  entered  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
vestibule  flagged  with  pinkish  stones  and 
ornamented  with  a  large  fountain  of  bur- 
nished copper.  A  staircase  of  the  same 
stones,  as  imposing  as  a  castle  staircase, 
with  a  curious  balustrade  of  wrought-iron, 
led  to  the  old-fashioned  wainscoted  bed- 
rooms on  the  second  floor.  And  these  things 
evoked  a  past  very  different  from  that  I  had 
brooded  over  upon  the  Island,  at  St.  Ongeoise, 
the  only  past  with  which  I  was  at  this  time 
familiar. 

After  dinner  we  went  out  and  sat  together 
upon  the  bank  of  the  noisy  river ;  we  sat  in 
a  meadow  overgrown  with  centauries  and 
sweet  marjoram,  recognizable  in  the  dark- 
ness because  of  their  penetrating  odor.  It 
was  a  very  still,  warm  evening  and  in- 
numerable crickets  chirped  in  the  grass. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  never  before 
seen  so  many  stars  in  the  heavens.  The 
difference  in  latitude  was  not  so  great,  but 
the  sea-air  that  tempers  our  winters  also 
makes  our  summer  evenings  hazy ;  in  con- 
sequence we  could  see  more  stars  here  in 
this  southern  country  with  its  clear  atmos- 
phere, than  at  our  home. 

The  majestic  mountains  surrounding  us, 
from  which  I  could  not  take  my  eyes,  looked 
like  great  blue  silhouettes :  the  mountains, 


176         ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 

never  seen  until  now,  gave  me  the  feeling, 
so  much  longed  for,  of  being  in  a  distant 
country,  they  gave  me  the  assurance  that 
one  of  the  dreams  of  my  childhood  had  come 
true. 

I  spent  several  summers  in  this  village, 
and  I  made  myself  enough  at  home  to  learn 
the  southern  dialect  spoken  by  the  people 
there.  Indeed  the  two  provinces  I  became 
best  acquainted  with  in  my  childhood  -was 
this  southern  one  and  that  of  St.  Ongeoise, 
both  of  them  lands  of  sunshine. 

Brittany,  which  so  many  take  to  be  my 
native  place,  I  did  not  see  until  a  later  time, 
not  until  I  was  seventeen,  and  I  did  not  learn 
to  love  it  until  long  after  that,  —  doubtless 
that  is  why  I  loved  it  so  ardently.  At  first 
it  oppressed  me  and  induced  a  feeling  of 
extreme  sadness ;  my  brother  Ives  initiated 
me  into  its  charm,  a  charm  tinged  with  mel- 
ancholy, and  it  was  he  who  persuaded  me 
to  explore  its  thatched  cottages  and  wooden 
chapels.  And  following  this,  the  influence 
that  a  young  girl  of  Treguier  exercised  over 
my  imagination,  when  I  was  about  twenty- 
seven,  strengthened  my  love  for  Brittany, 
the  land  of  my  adoption. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflb.         177 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 

THE  day  after  my  arrival  at  my  uncle's  I 
met  some  children  named  Peyrals  who 
became  my  playmates.  According  to  the 
fashion  of  that  part  of  the  country  their  bap- 
tismal names  were  spoken  preceded  by  the 
definite  article.  The  two  little  girls  respec- 
tively ten  and  twelve  years  old  were  called 
"the  Marciette  "  and  "the  Titi,"  and  their 
younger  brother,  still  a  little  chap,  who  did 
not,  therefore,  figure  so  largely  in  our  plays, 
was  called  "the  Medon." 

As  I  was  younger  in  my  ways  than  most 
boys  of  twelve,  —  in  spite  of  my  understand- 
ing of  some  things  usually  beyond  the  com- 
prehension of  children,  — we  immediately 
became  a  congenial  little  band,  and  for 
several  summers  -we  came  together  and 
enjoyed  each  other's  companionship. 

The  father  of  the  little  Peyrals  owned  all 
the  forests  and  vineyards  upon  the  hillsides 
about  us.  We  had  the  freedom  of  them, 
were  absolutely  our  own  masters,  and  no 
one  controlled  or  restrained  us  in  any  way, 
no  matter  how  absurd  we  were. 


178         Ube  Storp  of  a  Cbflfc, 

In  that  mountain  village  our  relatives  -were 
so  esteemed  by  the  peasants  living  around 
them,  that  it  was  perfectly  proper  for  us 
to  wander  any-where  and  every-where  in 
search  of  adventures.  We  would  start  out 
very  early  in  the  morning  upon  mysterious 
expeditions,  or  we  went  to  distant  vineyards 
to  have  picnics  or  to  chase  butterflies  that 
we  never  caught.  Sometimes  a  little  peas- 
ant would  enlist  in  our  ranks  and  follow 
submissively  wherever  we  led.  After  the 
espionage  to  which  I  had  been  accustomed  I 
found  this  liberty  a  delicious  change.  An 
altogether  novel  and  independent  life  in  the 
open  air  commenced  for  me  here  in  the 
mountains ;  I  might  with  some  show  of 
reason  call  it  a  continuation  of  my  solitude, 
for  I  was  the  senior  of  these  children  who 
merely  participated  in  my  fantastic  plays  : 
between  us  there  were  abysmal  differences 
springing  from  the  quality  of  our  minds  and 
imaginations. 

I  was  always  the  undisputed  chief  of  the 
band ;  Titi,  the  only  one  who  ever  revolted, 
was  easily  brought  to  terms ;  the  children 
seemed  to  wish  to  please  me  in  everything, 
and  that  made  it  very  easy  for  me  to  manage 
them. 

That  was  the  first  little  band  I  led.  Later, 
other  ones,  less  easy  to  cope  with,  came 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc,         179 

under  my  dominion ;  but  I  always  pre- 
ferred to  have  them  composed  of  persons 
younger  than  myself,  younger  in  mental 
development  especially,  and  more  simple  in 
every  way  than  I,  so  that  they  would  not  in- 
terfere with  my  whims,  nor  laugh  at  my 
childishness. 


180         ttbe  Slots  of  a  Cbiifc* 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

only  task  required  of  me  during  my 
*  vacation  was  that  I  should  read  from 
Fenelon's  Telemaque  (my  education,  you  see* 
was  a  little  out  of  date).  My  copy  of  the 
work  was  composed  of  several  small  volumes. 
Strangely  enough,  it  was  not  irksome  to  me. 
I  could  image  to  myself  distinctly  the  land 
of  Greece  with  its  white  marble  temples  and 
its  bright  sky,  and  I  had  a  conception  of 
pagan  antiquity  that  was  almost  as  vivid 
(if  not  so  correct)  as  Fenelon's  :  Calypso  and 
her  nymphs  enchanted  me. 

Every  day,  in  order  to  read,  I  hid  myself 
from  the  Peyrals,  either  in  my  uncle's  gar- 
den or  in  the  garret  of  his  house,  my  two 
favorite  hiding-places. 

This  garret,  under  the  high  Louis  XIII 
roof,  extended  the  full  length  of  the  house. 
The  shutters  of  the  place  were  seldom  opened, 
and  there  was  here,  in  consequence,  almost 
perpetual  twilight.  The  old  things,  belong- 
ieg  to  a  by-gone  century,  lying  there  under 
the  dust  and  cobwebs  attracted  me  from 
the  first  day ;  and,  little  by  little,  the  habit 


Ube  Stors  of  a  CbiU).         181 

of  slipping  up  there  with  my  Te*lemaque  had 
grown  upon  me.  I  usually  stole  up  after 
the  noon  dinner,  secure  in  the  thought  that 
no  one  would  dream  of  looking  for  me  there. 
At  this  noon  hour  of  hot  and  radiant  sun- 
shine, the  garret,  by  contrast,  was  almost 
as  dark  as  night.  Noiselessly  I  would  throw 
open  a  shutter  of  one  of  the  dormer  win- 
dows, and  a  flood  of  sunshine  poured  in  ;  then 
I  climbed  out  on  the  roof,  and  with  elbows 
resting  upon  the  sun-warmed  old  slate  tiles 
overgrown  with  golden  mosses,  I  would 
read  my  book. 

Around  me,  on  this  same  roof,  thousands 
of  Agen  plums  were  drying.  This  fruit, 
intended  for  winter  use,  was  spread  out  on 
mats  made  of  reeds ;  -warmed  through  and 
through  by  the  sun  and  thoroughly  dried 
they  were  delicious ;  their  fragrance,  too, 
was  exquisite  and  it  impregnated  the  whole 
garret.  The  bees  and  the  wasps  who,  like 
me,  ate  them  at  their  pleasure,  tumbled  on 
their  backs  and  extended  their  legs  in  the 
air,  overcome  seemingly  by  the  cloying  sweet- 
ness of  the  fruit  and  the  heat  of  the  day. 
And  on  the  neighboring  roofs,  between  the 
old  gothic  gables,  there  were  similar  reed 
mats  covered  with  these  same  plums,  all  vis- 
ited by  myriads  of  buzzing  wasps  and  bees. 

One   could   also   see  from   here  the    two 


182          Hbe  Stors  of  a  GbUfc. 

streets  that  came  together  in  front  of  my 
uncle's  house ;  they  were  lined  with  medi- 
aeval dwellings,  and  each  terminated  at  an 
arched  door  that  was  cut  in  the  high,  red 
stone-wall  that  had  formerly  served  as  a 
fortification.  The  village  was  hot  and 
drowsy  and  silent,  the  heat  of  the  mid-sum- 
mer sun  made  it  torpid ;  but  one  could  hear 
innumerable  chickens  and  ducks  scratching 
and  pecking  at  the  sun-baked  dirt  in  the 
streets.  And  far  away  in  the  distance  the 
mountains  pierced  the  cloudless  blue  of 
the  heavens  with  their  sunny  heights. 

I  read  Telemaque  in  very  small  doses ; 
two  or  three  pages  a  day  was  generally 
enough  to  satisfy  my  curiosity  and  to  ease 
my  conscience  for  the  day ;  that  task  over, 
I  went  down  hurriedly  to  find  my  little 
friends,  and  we  would  set  out  on  a  trip  to 
the  -woods  and  vineyards. 

My  uncle's  garden,  my  other  place  of  re- 
treat, -was  not  attached  to  the  house,  but 
was  situated,  as  were  all  the  other  ones  in 
the  village,  beyond  the  ramparts  of  the 
town.  It  'was  surrounded  by  very  high 
walls,  and  one  had  entrance  to  it  through 
an  old  arched  gate  that  was  unlocked  with 
an  enormous  key.  Upon  certain  days,  armed 
with  my  Telemaque  and  my  butterfly-net,  I 
isolated  myself  there. 


ZTbe  Stors  of  a  CbiR).          183 

In  the  garden  there  were  several  plum 
trees,  and  from  them  there  fell,  onto  the 
warm  earth,  over-ripe  plums  of  the  same 
variety  as  those  drying  on  the  ancient  roofs. 
The  old  arbor  was  trellised  with  grape  vines, 
and  legions  of  flies  and  bees  feasted  upon  the 
musky,  fragrant  grapes.  The  extreme  end 
of  the  garden,  for  it  was  a  very  large  one, 
was  overgrown  like  an  ordinary  field  with 
alfalfa. 

The  charm  of  this  old  orchard  lay  in  the 
feeling  it  gave  one  of  being  greatly  secluded, 
of  being  absolutely  alone  in  a  wilderness  of 
space  and  silence. 

I  must  not  forget  to  speak  of  the  old  arbor 
that  two  summers  later  was  the  scene  of 
the  most  momentous  act  of  my  childhood. 
It  backed  against  the  surrounding  wall,  and 
its  lattice-work  was  overspread  with  mus- 
cadine vines  that  the  sun  scorched  and 
withered. 

In  this  garden,  for  some  inexplicable  reason, 
I  had  the  impression  of  being  in  the  tropics, 
in  the  colonies  of  my  fancy.  And  in  truth 
the  tropical  gardens  that  I  saw  later  were 
filled  with  the  same  heavy  fragrance  and  had 
much  the  same  appearance.  From  time 
to  time  rare  butterflies,  such  as  are  not  often 
seen  elsewhere,  flitted  through  the  garden. 
From  a  front  view  they  looked  like  common 


184         ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc, 

yellow  and  black  butterflies,  but  a  side  view 
showed  them  to  be  as  glistening  and  as  beau- 
tiful a  blue  as  the  exotic  ones  from  Guinea 
that  I  had  seen  under  glass  in  my  uncle's 
museum.  They  were  very  wary  and  diffi- 
cult to  ensnare,  for  they  rested  only  for  a 
second  at  a  time  upon  the  fragrant  muscadel 
grapes  before  fluttering  away  over  the  wall. 
Sometimes  I  would  place  my  foot  in  a  crevice 
of  the  stone  wall,  and  scramble  up  to  the  top 
to  look  after  them  as  they  flew  across  the 
hot  and  silent  fields ;  and  often  I  remained 
there  on  the  coping  for  a  long  time,  propped 
upon  my  elbows,  and  contemplated  the 
distant  landscape.  Everywhere  upon  the 
horizon  there  were  wooded  mountains  sur- 
mounted here  and  there  by  the  ruins  of 
feudal  castles.  Before  me,  in  the  midst  of 
fields  of  corn  and  buckwheat,  was  the 
Bories  estate.  Its  old  arched  porch,  the 
only  one  in  the  neighborhood  that  "was 
whitewashed,  looked  like  one  of  those  en- 
try-ways that  are  so  common  in  African 
villages.  This  estate,  I  had  been  told,  be- 
longed to  the  St.  Hermangarde  children,  who 
were  destined  to  become  my  future  com- 
rades. They  were  expected  almost  daily, 
but  I  dreaded  to  have  them  come,  for  my 
little  band  composed  of  the  Peyrals  seemed 
all  sufficient  and  extremely  well  chosen. 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflb,         185 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

CASTE LNAU  !  This  ancient  name  brings 
to  me  visions  of  glorious  sunshine  and 
of  clear  light  shining  upon  noble  heights ;  it 
evokes  the  gentle  melancholy  that  I  felt 
among  its  ruins,  and  recalls  to  me  my 
dreams  before  the  dead  splendors  buried 
there  for  so  many  centuries. 

The  old  ruin  of  Castelnau  was  perched 
on  one  of  the  most  heavily  wooded  moun- 
tains in  the  neighborhood,  and  its  reddish 
stone  turrets  and  towers  stood  out  boldly 
against  the  sky. 

By  looking  over  and  beyond  the  wall  sur- 
rounding my  uncle's  garden  I  could  see  the 
ancient  castle.  Indeed,  it  was  a  conspicuous 
point  in  the  landscape,  and  one  immediately 
saw  its  rough  red  stones  emerging  from  the 
interlaced  trees;  one  instantly  noted  the 
ancient  ruin  crowning  the  mountain,  all 
overgrown  with  the  beautiful  verdure  of 
chestnut  and  oak  trees. 

Upon  the  day  of  my  arrival  I  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  it,  and  I  was  attracted  by  this 
old  eagle's  nest,  which  must  have  been  a 


186         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc* 

superb  place  of  refuge  during  the  stormy 
middle-ages.  It  was  a  custom  in  my  uncle's 
family  to  go  up  there  two  or  three  times  a 
month  to  dine  and  pass  the  afternoon  with 
the  proprietor,  an  old  clergyman,  who  lived 
in  a  comfortable  house  built  against  one  side 
of  the  ruin. 

For  me  those  days  were  like  a  revel  in 
fairy  land. 

We  started  very  early  in  the  morning,  so 
that  we  should  be  beyond  the  plains  before 
the  hottest  period  of  the  day.  When  we 
arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  we  were 
refreshed  by  the  cool  shade  of  the  forest, 
enveloped  in  its  mantle  of  beautiful  green. 
As  we  went  up  and  up,  by  zig-zag  paths, 
afoot,  and  in  single  file,  under  lofty  arching 
oaks  and  intertwined  foliage,  our  line  of 
march  resembled  a  huge  serpent.  I  was 
reminded  of  Gustave  Dore's  engravings  of 
mediaeval  pilgrims  making  their  way  to 
isolated  abbeys  perched  on  mountain  heights. 
Tiny  springs  oozed  out  here  and  there  and 
trickled  across  the  red  earth ;  between  the 
trees  we  had  momentary  glimpses  of  beauti- 
ful and  extensive  vistas.  At  last  we  reached 
the  summit,  and  after  passing  through  the 
very  quaint  village  that  had  perched  on  this 
height  for  many  centuries,  we  rang  the  bell 
at  the  priest's  tiny  door.  The  castle  over- 


Ube  Stors  of  a  GbUfc,         187 

hung  his  miniature  garden  and  house ;  both 
were  built  under  the  shadow  of  the  crum- 
bling walls  and  the  sinking,  almost  tottering, 
red-stone  towers.  A  great  peace  seemed  to 
emanate  from  those  aerie  ruins,  and  a  deep 
silence  reigned  there. 

The  dinners  given  by  the  old  priest,  to 
which  several  of  the  notabilities  of  the  neigh- 
borhood were  invited,  always  lasted  very 
long.  The  ten  or  fifteen  courses  had  an 
accompaniment  of  the  ripest  fruits  and  the 
choicest  wines  of  that  country  so  excelling 
in  exquisite  vintages. 

For  several  hours  we  remained  at  the 
table  afflicted  by  the  August  or  September 
mid-day  heat,  and  I,  the  only  child  in  the 
company,  became  very  restless ;  I  was  dis- 
turbed by  the  thought  of  the  crushing  near- 
ness of  the  castle,  and  after  the  second 
course  I  would  ask  to  be  permitted  to  leave 
the  table.  An  old  serving-woman  used 
always  to  go  with  me  and  open  the  outer 
door  in  the  wall  of  the  feudal  ramparts  of 
Castelnau ;  then  she  confided  the  keys  of  the 
stately  ruin  to  me,  and  I  plunged  alone,  with 
a  delicious  feeling  of  fear,  into  the  familiar 
path,  and  passed  through  the  gate  of  the 
drawbridge  superposed  on  the  ramparts. 

There  I  might  remain  for  an  hour  or  two 
sure  of  not  being  disturbed  ;  I  was  at  liberty 


188         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbiifc, 

to  wander  about  in  that  labyrinth,  and  I  was 
master  in  the  majestic  but  sad  domain.  Oh  ! 
the  sweet  memory  of  the  reveries  that  I 
have  had  there  !  .  .  .  First  I  would  make 
a  tour  about  the  terraces  overhanging  the 
forest  lying  below ;  a  panorama  infinitely 
beautiful  unrolled  itself  to  my  sight ;  rivers 
winding  here  and  there  in  the  distance  looked 
like  streams  of  silver ;  and,  aided  by  the 
clear  and  limpid  summer  atmosphere,  I 
could  see  almost  as  far  as  the  neighboring 
provinces.  A  great  calm  pervaded  this 
sequestered  corner  of  France;  no  line  of 
railway  penetrated  it ;  and,  in  consequence,  it 
led  a  life  entirely  apart  from  the  big  world, 
a  life  such  as  it  had  known  in  the  good  old 
time. 

After  visiting  the  terraces  I  would  go 
into  the  ruined  interior,  into  the  courts,  up 
the  stairways  and  through  the  empty  gal- 
leries. I  climbed  to  the  old  towers  and  put 
to  flight  flocks  of  pigeons,  and  disturbed 
the  sleep  of  bats  and  owls.  On  the  first 
floor  there  was  a  suite  of  spacious  rooms, 
still  roofed  over,  and  very  dark  because  of 
the  shuttered  windows.  I  penetrated  into 
these  chambers,  and  I  felt  an  almost  deli- 
cious terror  when  I  heard  my  footsteps 
echoing  through  the  sepulchral  stillness  of 
the  place.  Then  I  would  pass  in  review 


ttbe  Stors  ot  a  Cbilt>.         189 

before  the  strange  Gothic  paintings  and 
the  half-effaced  frescoes  that  still  retained 
traces  of  gilt  ornamentation;  the  fabled 
monsters  and  garlands  of  impossible  flow- 
ers had  been  added  at  the  time  of  the 
Renaissance.  This  magnificent,  pictured 
past,  fantastic  and  barbarous  to  the  point 
of  being  terrible,  seemed  to  me,  at  that 
time,  very  vague,  and  dim  and  distant ;  I 
could  not  realize  that  it  had  been  lighted 
up  by  the  same  midday  sunshine  that 
warmed  the  red  stones  of  the  ruins  about 
me.  And  now  that  I  am  better  able  to  es- 
timate Castelnau,  when  I  recall  it  to  my 
memory,  after  having  seen  most  of  the 
splendors  of  this  earth,  I  still  think  the  en- 
chanted castle  of  my  childhood,  as  it  stands 
upon  its  glorious  height,  one  of  the  most 
superb  ruins  of  mediaeval  France. 

In  one  of  the  towers  there  was  a  room 
whose  ceiling  was  painted  a  royal-blue,  over- 
strewn  with  exquisite  gold  tracery  and  bla- 
zonry. In  no  place  have  I  realized  feudalism 
so  well  as  in  that  tower.  There  alone,  in 
the  silence  as  of  a  city  of  the  dead,  I  would 
lean  out  of  the  little  window  cut  in  the  thick 
wall  and  contemplate  the  green  verdure  lying 
below  me;  and  I  tried  to  imagine  that  I  saw 
coming  along  the  paths,  given  over  to  the 
flight  of  birds,  a  cavalcade  of  soldiers,  or  a 


190         Ube  Ston?  of  a  Cbflfc. 

procession  of  noble  knights  and  ladies.  .  .  . 
And,  for  me,  reared  in  a  level  country,  one 
of  the  greatest  charms  of  the  place  was  the 
view  I  had  of  blue  distances,  visible  from 
every  loophole  and  crevice,  every  gap  and 
opening  in  the  rooms  and  towers  of  Castel- 
nau,  for  then  I  realized  its  extraordinary 
height. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilb.          191 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

MY  brother's  letters,  written  close  on  very 
fine  paper,  continued  to  reach  us  from 
time  to  time ;  he  could  only  send  them  to 
us  by  sailing  vessels  bound  in  our  direction, 
which  lay-to  in  that  part  of  the  world  where 
he  was  stationed.  Some  of  them  were 
written  particularly  for  me,  and  these  were 
long,  and  filled  with  never-to-be-forgotten 
descriptions.  I  already  knew  several  words 
of  the  sweet  and  liquid  language  of  Oceanica, 
and  often  in  my  dreams  I  saw  the  exquisite 
island  he  described,  and  roamed  over  it ;  it 
haunted  my  imagination  as  does  a  chimerical 
realm,  ardently  desired,  but  as  inaccessible 
as  if  situated  upon  another  planet. 

During  my  visit  to  my  cousins,  my  father 
forwarded  me  a  letter  from  my  brother  ad- 
dressed to  me.  I  went  up  to  the  garret  roof, 
on  the  side  where  the  plums  were  drying,  to 
read  it.  He  wrote  of  a  place  called  Fataua, 
which  was  situated  in  a  deep  valley  and  sur- 
rounded by  steep  mountains.  "  A  perpetual 
twilight,"  he  -wrote,  "  reigns  here  under  the 
great  exotic  trees,  and  the  spray  of  the  cas- 


192         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

cade  keeps  the  carpet  of  rare  ferns  fresh." 
Yes  ;  I  could  picture  that  scene  to  myself 
very  well,  now  that  I  had  about  me  moun- 
tains and  moist  glens  luxuriant  with  ferns. 
.  .  .  He  described  every  thing  fully  and 
vividly :  my  brother  could  not  know  that  his 
letters  exercised  a  dangerous  spell  over  the 
child  who,  at  his  departure,  appeared  to  be 
so  tranquil  and  so  attached  to  the  home  fire- 
side. 

"  The  only  pity,"  he  wrote  at  the  end,  "  is 
that  this  delightful  island  has  not  a  door 
opening  into  the  home-yard,  into  the  beauti- 
ful arbor  overgrown  with  honeysuckle,  for 
instance,  that  lies  behind  the  grottoes  and 
the  little  pond." 

This  idea  of  a  door  in  the  wall  at  the  foot 
of  our  garden,  and  especially  the  association 
between  the  little  lake  constructed  by  my 
brother  and  distant  Oceanica,  struck  me  as 
very  singular,  and  the  following  night  I  had 
this  dream  : 

I  went  into  the  yard  and  found  it  enveloped 
in  a  sort  of  deadly  twilight  that  gave  me  the 
impression  that  the  sun  had  been  extin- 
guished forever.  ,  Every  where  there  seemed 
to  be  an  inexpressible  desolation  that  is 
known  only  in  dreams,  and  which  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  conceive  of  in  the 
waking  state.  When  I  arrived  at  the  bottom 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc.         193 

of  the  garden  near  the  beloved  little  lake,  I 
felt  myself  rising  from  the  ground,  like  a  bird 
about  to  take  flight.  At  first  I  floated  aim- 
lessly as  thistle  down,  then  I  passed  over 
the  wall  and  took  a  south-west  direction,  the 
direction  of  Oceanica;  I  had  no  trace  of 
wings,  and  I  lay  on  my  back  in  an  agony  of 
dizziness  and  nausea  as  I  travelled  with 
frightful  rapidity,  with  the  swiftness  of  a 
stone  shot  from  a  sling.  The  stars  whirled 
madly  in  space ;  beneath  me  oceans  and  seas 
faded  into  the  pallid  and  indistinguishable 
distance,  and  as  I  journeyed  I  was  ever  en- 
wrapped in  that  twilight  bespeaking  a  dead 
world.  .  .  .  After  a  few  minutes,  I  suddenly 
found  myself  encompassed  by  the  darkness 
of  the  noble  trees  in  the  valley  of  Fataiia. 

There  in  the  valley  my  dream  continued, 
but  I  ceased  to  believe  in  it,  —  the  utter  im- 
possibility of  really  being  there  impressed 
itself  upon  my  mind,  —  for  very  often  I  had 
been  duped  by  such  illusions,  -which  always 
vanished  when  I  awoke.  My  main  concern 
was  lest  I  should  wake  wholly,  for  the 
vision,  incomplete  as  it  was,  enchanted  me. 
At  least  the  carpet  of  rare  ferns  was  really 
there.  As  I  groped  in  the  night  air  and 
plucked  them,  I  said  to  myself:  "  Surely  these 
plants  are  real,  for  I  can  touch  them,  and  I 
have  them  in  my  hand  ;  surley  they  will  not 


194         ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

disappear  -when  the  dream  vanishes."  And 
I  grasped  them  with  all  my  strength  to  be 
sure  of  keeping  them. 

I  awoke.  A  beautiful  summer  day  had 
dawned,  and  in  the  village  was  heard  the 
noise  of  recommencing  life.  The  continual 
clucking  of  the  hens  as  they  roamed  about  in 
the  streets,  and  the  click-clack  of  the  weaver's 
loom  caused  me  to  realize  where  I  -was. 
My  empty  hand  was  still  shut  tight,  and  the 
nails  were  pressed  almost  into  the  flesh,  the 
better  to  guard  that  imaginary  bouquet  of 
Fataua,  composed  of  the  impalpable  stuff  of 
dreams. 


Ube  Stors  ot  a  Cbflfc*         105 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

I  HAD  very  quickly  attached  myself  to  my 
grown  cousins,  and  I  felt  as  well  ac- 
quainted with  them  as  if  I  had  always 
known  them.  I  believe  it  is  necessary  that 
there  should  be  the  bond  of  blood  for  the 
creation  of  those  intimate  relations  between 
people,  who,  but  the  day  before,  were  almost 
ignorant  of  each  other's  existence.  I  also 
loved  my  uncle  and  aunt ;  my  aunt  especi- 
ally, who  spoiled  me  a  little,  and  who  was 
so  good,  and  still  so  beautiful,  in  spite  of  her 
sixty  years,  her  gray  hair  and  her  grand- 
motherly way  of  dressing  herself.  In  these 
levelling  days,  wherein  one  person  is  so  like 
another,  people  of  my  aunt's  type  no  longer 
exist.  Born  in  the  neighborhood,  of  a  very 
ancient  family,  she  had  never  been  away 
from  this  province  of  France,  and  her  man- 
ners, her  hospitality,  and  her  exquisite  cour- 
tesy had  a  local  stamp,  every  detail  of  which 
pleased  me  greatly. 

In  direct  contrast  to  my  sheltered  home- 
life,  here  I  lived  almost  entirely  out  of 
doors.  I  roamed  about  in  the  streets  and 
highways,  and  often  I  went  beyond  the 


196         Ube  Stors  of  a 

gates  of  the  town.  The  narrow  streets, 
paved  with  black  pebbles  like  those  in  the 
Orient,  and  bordered  with  gothic  dwellings 
of  the  time  of  Louis  XIII,  had  a  singular 
charm  for  me.  I  already  knew  all  the  nooks 
and  corners,  public  highways  and  the  by- 
ways of  the  village,  and  I  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  many  of  the  kind  country 
people  who  lived  about  us. 

The  women,  peasant  women  with  goitres, 
who  passed  my  uncle's  house  on  their 
way  to  and  from  the  surrounding  fields  and 
vineyards,  carried  baskets  of  fruit  on  their 
heads,  and  they  always  paused  to  offer  me 
luscious  grapes  and  delicious  peaches.  I 
was  delighted  with  the  southern  dialect, 
and  with  the  songs  of  the  mountaineers ; 
and,  best  of  all,  my  unfamiliar  surroundings 
ever  reminded  me  that  I  was  in  a  strange 
country. 

And  now  when  I  see  any  of  the  little  things 
that  I  brought  from  there  for  my  museum, 
or  -when  I  look  over  the  brief  letters  that  I 
•wrote  to  my  mother  every  day,  I  suddenly 
feel  the  warm  sunshine  ;  I  experience  again 
the  strange  newness  ;  I  smell  the  fragrance 
of  ripe  southern  fruits,  and  I  feel  the  keen 
freshness  of  the  mountain  air ;  and  at  such 
times  I  realize  that  in  spite  of  the  long  de- 
scriptions in  these  dead  pages,  they  inade- 
quately express  all  I  felt. 


Stors  of  a  GbfU>,          197 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

THE  little  St.  Hermangardes,  of  whom 
every  one  spoke  so  often,  arrived  about 
the  middle  of  September.  Their  castle  was 
situated  in  the  north  upon  the  bank  of  the 
Carreze,  but  they  came  every  year  to  pass 
the  autumn  in  their  very  old  and  dilapidated 
mansion  near  my  uncle's  home. 

Two  boys,  both  a  little  older  than  I,  came 
this  time,  and,  contrary  to  my  expectation, 
I  took  a  fancy  to  them  immediately.  As 
they  were  in  the  habit  of  spending  a  part  of 
each  year  at  their  country  place,  they  had 
guns  and  powder  and  often  went  hunting. 
Thus  they  brought  an  entirely  new  element 
into  our  games.  Their  estate  of  Bories  be- 
came one  of  the  centres  of  our  operations. 
Every  thing  there  was  at  our  disposal,  the 
servants  and  all  the  animals  in  the  stables. 
One  of  our  favorite  amusements  was  the 
construction  of  enormous  balloons,  nine  or 
ten  feet  high,  and  these  we  inflated  by  burn- 
ing under  them  sheaves  of  hay;  we  then 
watched  them  rise  and  sail  away  and  away, 
until  they  were  lost  to  our  sight  high  above 
the  distant  fields  and  woods. 


198          Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbflfc* 

The  little  St.  Hermangardes  "were  unlike 
other  children ;  they  had  had  all  their  in- 
struction from  a  tutor,  and  their  ideas  were 
different  from  those  one  imbibes  at  boarding 
schools.  'When  there  was  any  disagreement 
between  us  in  regard  to  our  games,  they 
always  courteously  gave  in  to  me,  and  there- 
fore my  contact  with  them  did  not  help 
me  to  meet  the  painful  experiences  of  the 
future. 

One  day  they  came  over  and  with  much 
grace  made  me  a  present  of  a  very  rare  but- 
terfly. It  was  of  a  pale,  yellow  color,  almost 
merging  into  light  green,  the  yellow  of  a 
very  ordinary  butterfly,  but  its  front  wings 
•were  a  shaded  and  exquisite  pink,  similar  to 
the  delicate  rosy  tints  sometimes  seen  at 
daybreak.  They  had  captured  it,  they  said, 
in  the  late-ripening  autumn  grain  fields  of 
Bories,  —  they  had  caught  hold  of  it  so 
deftly  and  carefully  that  their  fingers  had 
made  no  impression  upon  its  brilliant  col- 
oring. When,  at  about  noontime,  I  received 
it  from  them  I  was  in  the  vestibule  of  my 
uncle's  house,  a  place  always  kept  tightly 
closed  during  the  hours  of  intense  heat. 
From  a  wing  of  the  house  I  heard  my 
cousin  singing  in  the  thin  and  plaintive 
falsetto  of  a  mountaineer ;  he  often  sang  in 
that  manner,  and  when  he  did  so  his  voice 


Stors  ot  a  Cbflfc,         199 

always  gave  me  a  feeling  of  unusual  melan- 
choly as  it  broke  the  stillness  of  the  late 
September  noons.  He  sang  over  and  over 
the  same  old  refrain  :  "  Ah  !  Ah  !  The  good, 
good  story.  ..."  Here  he  always  broke 
off  and  recommenced.  And  from  that  mo- 
ment Bories,  the  pinkish-yellow  butterfly, 
and  the  sad  little  refrain  of  the  "  good,  good 
story  "  were  inseparably  associated  in  my 
memory. 

But  I  fear  that  I  have  said  too  much  about 
the  incoherent  impressions  and  images  which 
came  to  me  so  frequently  in  days  gone  by ; 
this  is  the  last  time  that  I  will  speak  at 
length  of  them.  But  it  will  be  seen,  because 
of  what  follows,  how  important  it  is  for  me 
to  note  the  association  existing  between  the 
dissimilar  things  mentioned  above. 


200         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilt>. 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 

WE  left  the  mountains  at  the  beginning 
of  October;  but  my  home-coming  was 
marked  by  a  very  painful  circumstance — I 
was  sent  to  school !  I  went,  of  course,  only 
as  a  day  scholar ;  and  it  goes  without  saying 
that  I  was  never  allowed  to  go  and  come  alone 
lest  I  should  get  into  bad  company.  The  four 
years  that  I  spent  at  the  university,  as  a  day 
scholar,  were  as  strange  and  as  full  of  odd 
experiences  as  any  of  my  life.  But,  not- 
withstanding, from  that  fatal  day  my  history 
becomes  much  less  interesting  as  a  narra- 
tive. 

I  was  taken  to  school  for  the  first  time  at 
two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  upon  one  of 
those  glorious  October  days,  so  sunny  and 
peaceful,  that  is  like  a  reluctant  and  sad 
leave-taking  of  the  summer-time.  Ah  !  how 
beautiful  it  had  been  in  the  mountains,  in  the 
leafless  forests  and  among  the  autumn- tinted 
vines ! 

With  a  crowd  of  children,  all  talking  at 
the  same  time,  I  entered  the  torture  cham- 
ber. My  first  impression  was  one  of  aston- 


ttbe  Story  of  a  Cbfifc.         201 

ished  disgust  because  of  the  hideousness  of 
the  ink-stained  walls,  and  of  the  old  benches 
of  shiny  wood  defaced  by  the  penknife  -ca 
vings  of  countless  school-boys  who  had  been 
so  inexpressibly  miserable  in  this  place. 
Although  I  was  a  stranger  to  my  new  com- 
panions they  treated  me  with  the  greatest 
familiarity  (they  used  thee  and  thou  in  ad- 
dressing me)  and  gave  themselves  patroniz- 
ing airs  that  were  almost  impertinent. 
Although  I  observed  my  school-mates  timidly 
and  furtively,  I  thought  them,  for  the  most 
part,  exceedingly  ill-mannered  and  untidy. 

As  I  was  twelve  and  a  half  I  entered  the 
third  class ;  my  tutor  considered  me  advanced 
enough  to  keep  up  with  it  if  I  chose  to  do  so, 
although  I  myself  felt  that  I  was  scarcely 
equal  to  the  task.  The  first  day,  for  the 
purpose  of  qualifying,  we  had  to  write  Latin 
exercises,  and  I  remember  that  my  father 
awaited,  with  some  anxiety,  the  outcome  of 
the  examination.  When  I  told  him  I  was 
second  among  fifteen,  I  was  surprised  that  he 
attached  so  much  importance  to  a  matter  of 
so  little  interest  to  me.  It  was  all  one  to 
me  !  Broken  hearted  as  I  felt,  how  could  I 
be  affected  by  such  a  trifle  ? 

Later,  indeed,  at  no  time,  did  I  feel  the 
impetus  that  the  desire  to  excel  brings  with 
Jt.  To  be  at  the  foot  of  the  class  always 


202         Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbfit>. 

seemed  to  me  the  least  of  the  ills  that  a 
school-boy  is  called  upon  to  endure. 

The  weeks  following  my  entrance  were 
extremely  painful  to  me.  I  felt  my  intellect 
cramping  rather  than  expanding  under  the 
multiplicity  of  the  lessons  and  the  tasks 
imposed ;  even  the  realm  of  my  young 
dreams  seemed  closing  against  me  little  by 
little.  The  first  dismal,  foggy  weather,  and 
the  first  gray  days,  added  a  greater  desolation 
and  sadness  to  my  already  overwrought 
feelings.  The  uncouth  chimney-sweeps  had 
returned,  and  their  yearly  autumn  cry  was 
again  heard  in  the  streets.  Theirs  was  a 
cry  that  in  my  earlier  years  wrung  my  heart 
and  caused  my  tears  to  flow.  When  one  is 
a  child  the  approach  of  winter,  with  its  kill- 
ing gloom  and  cold,  seems  to  awake  in  him 
inexplicable  forebodings  bespeaking  the  end 
of  all  bright  and  beautiful  things ;  time  goes 
so  slowly  in  childhood  that  we  appear  not 
to  be  able  to  anticipate  the  inevitable  re- 
awakening that  comes  in  the  spring  to  all 
things. 

No,  it  is  only  when  we  are  older,  and 
would  seem,  therefore,  to  be  more  impres- 
sionable to  the  changes  of  the  seasons,  that 
we  regard  winter  merely  as  an  incident  hav- 
ing its  rightful  place  among  the  other  inci- 
dents of  life. 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbiib.         203 

I  had  a  calendar,  and  I  marked  off  upon  it 
the  slowly  passing  days.  At  the  commence- 
ment of  my  first  year  of  college  life  I  was 
oppressed  by  the  thought  of  the  months  of 
study  stretching  before  me,  and  by  the  pros- 
pect of  the  interminable  months  that  must 
come  and  go  before  we  reached  the  Easter 
vacation  that  was  to  give  us  a  respite  of 
eight  or  ten  days  from  the  dreadful  school- 
room grind  and  ennui ;  I  seemed  to  lose  all 
my  courage,  and  at  times  I  was  almost  over- 
whelmed with  despair  at  the  prospect  of  the 
long  and  dreary  days  that  went  so  slowly. 

In  the  meantime  cold  weather,  really  cold 
weather,  set  in  and  aggravated  my  sorrows. 
Oh !  the  daily  journey  to  school  upon  those 
frigid  December  mornings,  where  for  two 
deadly  hours  the  only  warmth  we  obtained 
came  from  the  inadequate  coal  fire,  and 
before  me  the  torture  of  returning  to  my 
home  in  the  face  of  the  icy  winter  wind ! 
The  other  children  frolicked  and  ran  and 
pushed  each  other,  and  they  slid  upon  the 
ice  when  it  chanced  that  the  water  in  the 
gutters  was  frozen  over.  As  for  me  I  did 
not  know  how  to  slide,  and,  besides,  sports 
such  as  the  other  boys  indulged  in,  I  con- 
sidered highly  undignified.  I  was  always 
escorted  to  and  from  school  very  sedately, 
and  I  felt  the  humiliation  of  being  conducted. 


204         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbfifc. 

I  was  sometimes  laughed  at  by  my  school- 
mates, with  whom  I  was  not  at  all  popular ; 
and  I  had  a  disdain  for  those  who,  like  my- 
self, were  in  bondage.  I  had  scarcely  an 
idea  in  common  with  them. 

Even  Thursdays  I  had  to  give  to  the 
preparation  of  lessons  that  took  the  entire 
day.  The  written  tasks,  absurd  exercises, 
I  scrawled  off  in  the  most  careless  and 
illegible  handwriting. 

And  my  disgust  for  life  was  so  great  that 
I  no  longer  took  the  least  bit  of  pains  with 
myself;  often  now  I  was  scolded  for  looking 
so  unkempt,  and  for  having  dirty,  ink-stained 
hands.  .  .  .  But  if  I  continue  in  this  strain 
I  will  succeed  in  making  my  recital  as  tedi- 
ous as  were  the  school-days  of  my  youth. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc.        205 


CHAPTER   L. 

CAKES !  Cakes  !  my  good  hot  cakes ! 
The  old  cake  woman  had  resumed  her 
nightly  tour,  and  again  we  heard  her  rapid 
footsteps  and  her  shrill  refrain.  Always  at 
the  same  hour,  with  the  regularity  of  an 
automaton,  she  went  by  our  house.  And 
the  long  winter  re-commenced  in  the  same 
manner  as  had  the  preceding  ones,  and  as 
were  similarly  to  begin  the  following  two  or 
three  years. 

Our  neighbors,  the  D s,  accompanied 

by  Lucette,  always  came  at  eight  o'clock 
Sunday  evenings,  and  another  neighbor 
visited  us  also  upon  this  same  evening. 
These  latter  brought  with  them  their  little 
daughter  Marguerite,  who  gradually  insin- 
uated herself  into  my  affections. 

That  year  Marguerite  and  I  brought  the  Sun- 
day winter-evenings,  over  which  the  thought 
of  the  tasks  of  the  morrow  brooded  sadly, 
to  a  close  with  an  entirely  new  amusement. 
After  the  tea,  when  I  felt  that  the  party  was 
about  to  break  up,  I  would  hurry  little  Mar- 
guerite into  the  dining-room,  and  there  we 


206        ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

rushed  madly  about  the  round  table  and 
tried  to  catch  or  tag  each  other,  —  we  played 
furiously.  It  goes  without  saying  that  she 
was  usually  caught  immediately  and  tagged 
very  often,  and  I  scarcely  never ;  it  therefore 
fell  out  that  it  was  almost  always  her  turn 
to  chase  me,  and  she  did  it  desperately. 
We  struck  the  table  with  our  bodies,  and 
yelled,  and  carried  on  our  play  with  the  great- 
est imaginable  uproar.  We  succeeded  in 
turning  up  the  rugs,  in  disarranging  the  chairs, 
and  in  making  havoc  of  every  thing.  We 
soon  tired  of  our  play,  however,  —  the  truth  is 
I  was  too  old  to  care  greatly  for  such  frolics. 
I  had  scarcely  any  feeling  save  one  of  melan- 
choly, in  spite  of  the  wild  sport  I  indulged  in, 
for  over  me  hovered  the  chilling  thought  that 
in  the  morning  the  usual  round  of  dry  and 
laborious  lessons  would  begin.  My  furious 
revel  was  simply  a  way  of  prolonging  that 
day  of  truce,  of  making  it  count  to  its  very 
last  moment ;  it  was  an  attempt  to  divert  my 
thoughts  by  making  plenty  of  noise.  It  was 
also  my  way  of  hurling  a  defiance  at  those 
tasks  that  I  had  left  undone.  My  negligence 
troubled  my  conscience  and  disturbed  my 
sleep,  and  caused  me  finally  to  look  over, 
hastily  and  feverishly,  by  the  feeble  light  of 
a  candle,  or  by  the  cold  gray  light  of  early 
dawn,  the  neglected  lessons,  before  the  com- 


Ube  Stors  of  a  GbiK).         207 

ing  of  the  despised  hour  in  which  I  betook 
myself  to  school. 

There  was  always  a  little  consternation  in 
the  parlor  when  the  sounds  of  our  merri- 
ment reached  those  gathered  there  ;  it  must 
have  been  particularly  distressing  to  our 
parents  to  hear  that  we  were  amusing  our- 
selves otherwise  than  with  our  duet  sonatas, 
and  to  find  that  we  preferred  noise  and  dis- 
cord to  the  "  Pretty  Shepherdess." 

And  for  at  least  two  winters,  at  about  half- 
past  ten  every  Sunday  evening,  we  indulged 
in  that  romp  around  the  dining-table.  My 
school  was  of  little  value  to  me,  and  the 
tasks  imposed  of  even  less  benefit ;  I  always 
went  to  work  reluctantly  and  in  the  wrong 
spirit,  and  that  lessened  and  extinguished 
my  power  and  stupefied  me.  I  had  the  same 
unfortunate  experience  when  I  came  in  con- 
tact with  schoolmates  of  my  own  age,  my 
equals ;  their  roughness  disgusted  me,  and  I 
repulsed  all  the  efforts  they  made  to  be 
friendly.  ...  I  never  saw  them  except  in 
class,  under  the  master's  rod,  as  it  were ;  I 
had  already  become  a  little  being  too  peculiar 
and  set  in  my  ways  to  be  modified  greatly 
by  contact  with  them,  and  I  therefore  held 
aloof,  and  my  eccentricities  accentuated 
themselves. 

Almost  all  of  them  were  older  and  more 


208          Ube  Stot£  ot  a  Gbilfc* 

developed  than  I ;  they  also  were  more  crafty 
and  more  sophisticated ;  in  consequence 
there  sprung  up  amongst  them  a  feeling  of 
contempt  and  enmity  for  me  that  I  repaid 
•with  disdain,  for  I  felt  sure  that  they  were 
incapable  of  comprehending  or  following  the 
flights  of  my  imagination. 

With  the  very  youthful  peasants  in  the 
mountains,  and  the  fishermen's  children  on 
the  Island,  I  had  never  been  haughty ;  we 
had  understood  each  other  after  the  fashion 
of  children  who  are  primitive,  and  therefore 
fond  of  childish  play ;  and  upon  such  occa- 
sions I  had  associated  with  them  as  if  they 
were  my  equals.  But  I  was  arrogant  in  my 
behavior  to  the  boys  at  school,  and  they 
had  good  reason  to  consider  me  whimsical 
and  priggish.  It  took  me  many  years  to 
conquer  that  arrogance,  to  act  simply  and 
like  other  people  in  the  world ;  and  especially 
it  was  difficult  for  me  to  realize  that  one  is 
not  necessarily  superior  to  his  fellows  be- 
cause he  is  (to  his  own  misfortune  often) 
prince  and  conjurer  in  the  realm  of  fancy. 


tlbe  Stors  of  a  CbiU>*         209 


CHAPTER   LI. 

THE  theatre  wherein  was  enacted  the 
"  Donkey's  Skin,"  very  much  ampli- 
fied and  more  elaborate,  had  now  a  per- 
manent place  in  my  aunt  Claire's  room. 
Little  Jeanne,  more  interested  in  it  since 
the  additions  to  the  scenery  and  the  text, 
came  over  oftener ;  she  painted  backgrounds 
under  my  direction,  and  the  moments  I  en- 
enjoyed  most  were  those  in  which  I  im- 
pressed her  with  my  great  superiority.  We 
had  now  a  box-full  of  characters,  each  with 
a  name  and  role ;  and  the  fantastic  proces- 
sions were  made  up  of  regiments  of  mon- 
sters, beasts  and  gnomes  made  out  of  plaster 
and  painted  with  water  colors. 

I  recall  our  delight  and  enthusiasm  when 
we  tried  for  the  first  time  the  effect  of  a 
scenic  background  which  we  had  made  to 
represent  the  "void  of  heaven."  Delicate 
rosy  clouds,  bespeaking  the  dawn,  floated 
over  the  blue  expanse  that  was  softened  and 
paled  by  the  gauze  hanging  in  front  of  it. 
And  the  chariot  of  a  silken-haired  fairy, 
drawn  by  two  butterflies  and  suspended 


210         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc* 

on  invisible  threads,  advanced  towards  the 
centre  of  the  scene. 

But  in  spite  of  our  efforts  our  work  -was 
never  finished,  for  we  took  no  account  of 
limitations  ;  every  day  we  had  new  ideas  and 
ever  more  and  more  wonderful  projects,  and 
the  great  comprehensive  representation  was 
deferred  from  day  to  day,  was  postponed  to 
a  future  that  never  came. 

Every  undertaking  of  my  life  will  be,  or 
has  already  been,  left  unfinished  and  incom- 
plete as  was  that  little  play  of  the  "  Donkey's 
Skin." 


Ube  Storp  of  a  Cbfifc.         211 


CHAPTER   LII. 

AMONG  those  professors  who  seemed, 
during  my  school-days,  so  severe,  and 
indeed  almost  cruel  to  me,  the  most  terrible 
•without  any  exception  were  the  "  Bull  of 
Apis"  and  the  "Big  Black  Ape"  (I  had 
nicknames  for  all  of  them).  I  hope,  should 
they  read  this,  they  will  understand  that 
I  am  writing  from  the  child's  view-point. 
Should  I  meet  them  to-day  I  would,  in  all 
probability,  humbly  tender  them  my  hand 
and  ask  their  pardon  for  having  been  such 
an  unmanageable  pupil. 

Oh !  the  Big  Ape  especially,  how  I  hated 
him !  When  from  the  height  of  his  desk 
these  words  fell  upon  my  ear :  "  You  will 
do  a  hundred  lines  ;  I  mean  you,  you  little 
sap-head  !  "  I  could  have  flown  at  his  face 
like  an  enraged  cat.  He  was  the  first  to 
arouse  in  me  those  sudden  and  violent  out- 
bursts of  rage  that  characterized  me  as  a 
man,  outbreaks  which  could  scarcely  have 
been  foreseen  in  a  child  of  my  sweet  and 
patient  disposition. 

I  would  be  doing  myself  a  great  injustice 


212         Ube  Stors  of  a 

in  saying  that  I  was  altogether  a  bad  scholar, 
I  was,  rather,  an  unequal  and  erratic  one ; 
one  day  at  the  head  of  my  class,  the 
next  day  at  the  foot;  but  on  the  whole  I 
maintained  a  fair  average,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  year  I  received  the  prize  for  translation 
—  I  won  no  others  however.  It  surprised 
me  that  every  one  in  the  class  did  not  re- 
ceive the  prize  that  I  had  won  without  great 
effort,  for  translation  was  extraordinarily 
easy  for  me.  On  the  other  hand  I  found 
composition  very  difficult,  and  narration  still 
more  so. 

Little  by  little  I  deserted  my  own  work- 
desk,  and  in  my  aunt  Claire's  room,  near 
the  china  bon-bon  bear,  I  underwent,  with 
as  much  resignation  as  possible,  the  torture 
that  the  preparing  of  my  tasks  imposed.  On 
the  wainscoting  of  the  wall,  in  a  hidden  re- 
cess of  the  room,  there  is  still  visible,  among 
the  other  fantastical  sketches,  a  pen-portrait 
of  the  "Big  Ape";  the  ink  has  faded  to  a 
light  yellow,  but  the  drawing  has  endured, 
and  when  I  look  at  it  I  again  feel  a  sort  of 
deadly  weariness,  and  a  sensation  of  suffo- 
cation chills  me  through  and  through  —  in 
short  I  once  more  live  over  those  dread 
school-days. 

Aunt  Claire  was  more  than  ever  my  re- 
source during  those  hard  times  ;  she  always 


TTbe  Story  of  a  Cbilfc.         213 

looked  up  words  for  me  in  the  dictionary, 
and  often  she  took  upon  herself  the  task  of 
writing  for  me,  in  an  assumed  hand,  the 
exercises  exacted  by  the  "  Big  Ape." 


214         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 


CHAPTER    LIII. 

BRING  me/ please,  dear,  the  second  .  .  . 
no,  the  third  drawer  of  my  chiffonier. 

It  is  mamma  who  is  speaking;  she  is  busy- 
ing herself  with  the  drawers  of  the  chiffonier, 
which  every  day,  for  many  years,  she  has 
asked  me  to  bring  to  her,  —  sometimes  she 
pretends  to  need  them  merely  for  the  pur- 
pose of  pleasing  me  by  requiring  my  services. 
It  was  one  of  the  things  that  I  was  able 
to  do  for  her  when  I  was  very  little  :  to  carry 
to  her  one  or  another  of  those  tiny  drawers. 
It  was  an  honored  custom  in  our  household 
for  a  long  time. 

At  the  time  of  my  life  of  which  I  am  now 
writing  it  was  in  the  evening,  at  dusk,  after 
my  return  from  school,  that  I  busied  myself 
carrying  the  little  chiffonier  drawers.  I 
usually  found  mamma  seated  in  her  accus- 
tomed place  near  the  window,  chatting  or 
embroidering,  her  work  basket  was  before 
her,  and  the  bureau,  whose  different  com- 
partments she  required  from  time  to  time, 
was  situated  some  distance  away,  in  an 
anteroom. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc,         215 

This  Louis  XV  chiffonier  was  very  much 
revered,  for  it  had  belonged  to  great-grand- 
mothers. In  it  there  were  some  very  old 
and  very  tiny  painted  boxes,  which  had 
doubtless  been  handled  every  day  by  one 
or  another  of  our  ancestresses.  It  goes  with- 
out saying  that  I  knew  all  the  secrets  of 
these  compartments  that  were  kept  in  such 
exquisite  order;  there  was  a  special  place 
for  silks  that  was  classified  by  being  put  into 
ribbon  bags ;  one  for  needles,  another  for 
braid,  and  still  another  for  little  hooks.  And 
these  things  were  still  arranged,  I  have  no 
doubt,  as  they  had  beenuin  our  grandmother's 
days,  whose  saintly  activity  my  mother 
imitated. 

To  bring  the  drawers  of  the  chiffonier  to 
mamma  was  the  joy  and  pride  of  my  child- 
hood, and  there  has  been  no  change  in  my 
feelings  for  those  little  compartments  since 
that  time.  They  have  always  inspired  me 
with  the  most  tender  respect ;  they  are 
blended  with  the  image  of  my  mother,  and 
they  recall  to  me  her  beautiful,  skillful  hands, 
ever  busy  manufacturing  some  pretty,  use- 
ful article,  —  even  to  her  last  piece  of  em- 
broidery, which  was  a  handkerchief  for  me. 

In  my  seventeenth  year,  when  we  met 
great  reverses  —  at  that  troubled  time  of 
which  I  will  not  speak  here,  but  only  men- 


216         ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbiifc* 

tion,  because  I  have  already,  in  preceding 
chapters,  touched  upon  the  matter  —  we  had 
to  face,  for  several  months,  the  dreadful 
possibility  of  being  obliged  to  part  with  our 
old  home  and  all  the  precious  things  that  it 
contained.  At  that  time  when  I  passed  in 
review  all  the  beloved  memories  and  habits 
and  mementoes  that  I  would  need  to  break 
with,  one  of  my  most  agonizing  thoughts 
•was:  "  Never  more  will  I  be  able  to  come  and 
go  in  the  ante-chamber  where  the  chiffonier 
stands,  nor  never  again  be  able  to  carry  its 
precious  little  drawers  to  mamma." 

And  her  very  old-fashioned  work-basket 
that  I  had  begged  her  not  to  discard,  although 
it  was  much  worn,  with  its  little  articles, 
needle  books,  receptacles  for  thimbles  and 
screws  for  holding  the  embroidery  frames  ! 
The  thought  that  a  time  must  surely  come 
when  the  well-beloved  hands  that  daily 
touch  these  things  will  touch  them  no  more, 
fills  me  with  so  much  sorrow  that  I  am 
bereft  of  all  courage,  and  I  struggle  in  vain 
against  invading  sad  emotions.  Let  me  hope 
that  as  long  as  I  live  it  may  remain  as  it  is, 
that  for  so  long  it  will  be  guarded  with  the 
sacredness  of  a  relic ;  but  to  whom  can  I 
bequeath  this  heirloom  with  the  assurance 
that  it  will  be  cherished?  What  will  be- 
come of  those  poor  little  trifles  that  are  so 
precious  to  me  ? 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbii&,         217 

That  work-basket  belonging  to  my  mother, 
and  the  little  drawers  of  the  old  chiffonier 
are,  I  doubt  not,  the  things  that  I  will  part 
with  most  regretfully  when  the  time  ^omes 
for  me  to  go  into  the  world. 

Truly  all  of  this  is  very  puerile  and  child- 
ish, and  I  am  ashamed  of  it ;  —  and  yet  I  am 
almost  -weeping  as  I  write  it. 


218         Ube  Stors  ot  a 


CHAPTER   LIV. 

BECAUSE  of  the  haste  and  confusion 
brought  about  by  conflicting  school 
tasks,  I  had  not  for  many  months  found 
time  to  read  my  Bible ;  indeed  I  scarcely 
had  time  for  a  morning  prayer. 

I  still  -went  to  church  regularly  every  Sun- 
day ;  that  is,  we  all  went  there  together.  I 
reverenced  the  family  pew  where  we  had 
assembled  for  so  many  years ;  and  apart 
from  that  reason  I  hold  it  dear  because  it  is 
associated  in  my  memory  with  my  mother. 

It  was  at  church,  however,  that  my  faith 
continued  to  receive  its  most  damaging 
blows ;  it  was  there  that  religion  seemed  a 
cold  and  meaningless  term  to  me.  Usually 
the  commentaries,  the  narrow  human  rea- 
soning and  dissection  took  away  from  the 
beauty  of  the  Bible  and  the  Gospels,  and 
deprived  them  of  their  grandly  solemn  and 
exquisite  poetry.  For  a  peculiar  nature  like 
mine  it  was  very  difficult  to  have  any  one 
touch  upon  holy  subjects  (in  such  a  way  as 
did  the  minister)  without  in  some  measure, 
in  my  opinion,  desecrating  them.  The  fam- 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Gbfifc,         219 

ily  worship,  held  every  evening,  awakened 
in  me  the  only  religious  meditation  that  I 
now  knew,  for  the  voice  that  read  or  prayed 
was  exceedingly  dear  to  me,  and  that  changed 
every  thing. 

My  untiring  contemplation  of  nature,  and 
the  reflections  that  I  indulged  in  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  fossils  I  had  brought  from  the 
mountains  and  cliffs,  and  placed  in  my 
museum,  indicated  that  there  had  been  bred 
in  me  a  vague  and  unconscious  pantheism. 

In  short,  my  deeply  rooted  and  still-living 
faith  was  covered  over  with  encumbering 
earth.  At  times  it  threw  out  a  green  shoot, 
but  for  the  most  part  it  lay  like  an  entirely 
dead  thing  in  the  cold  ground.  Moreover,  I 
was  too  much  troubled  to  •  pray ;  my  con- 
science, still  sensitive  and  timid,  gave  me 
no  rest  during  the  time  that  I  was  on  my 
knees,  —  I  always  felt  remorse  gnaw  at  me 
then  because  of  the  slovenly  and  half-done 
tasks,  and  because  of  the  feelings  of  hate  I 
had  for  the  "Big  Ape"  and  the  "Bull  of 
Apis,"  emotions  that  I  was  obliged  to  hide 
and  disguise  until  I  shuddered  at  the  false- 
hoods I  spoke  and  acted.  These  things  gave 
me  poignant  remorse  and  excruciating  moral 
distress,  and  to  escape  from  these  emotions 
I  indulged  in  noisy  sports  and  foolish  laugh- 
ter; and  when  my  conscience  troubled  me 


220         fcbe  Stors  ot  a  Cbflt>* 

most,  and  I  dared  not,  therefore,  appear  be- 
fore my  parents,  I  took  refuge  with  the  ser- 
vants, played  tennis,  jumped  the  rope,  or 
made  a  great  racket. 

For  two  or  three  years  I  had  not  spoken 
of  a  religious  vocation,  for  I  now  understood 
that  such  a  desire  was  a  thing  of  the  past, 
was  impossible ;  but  I  had  not  found  any 
thing  to  put  in  its  place.  When  strangers 
asked  what  career  I  was  being  prepared 
for,  my  parents,  a  little  anxious  in  regard 
to  my  future,  did  not  know  what  to  say; 
and  I  knew  still  less  what  to  reply. 

However  my  brother,  who  was  also  much 
concerned  over  my  enigmatical  future,  in  one 
of  those  letters  that  seemed  always  to  come 
from  an  enchanted  land,  suggested,  because 
of  a  certain  facility  in  mathematics  and  a  cer- 
tain precision  of  nature,  certainly  anomalies 
in  one  of  my  temperament,  that  it  might 
be  well  for  me  to  study  engineering.  And 
when  they  consulted  me  and  I  replied 
apathetically:  "Very  well,  it  is  agreeable 
enough  to  me,"  the  matter  seemed  satis- 
factorily settled. 

I  would  need  to  spend  a  little  more  than 
a  year  at  a  polytechnic  school  in  order  to 
prepare  myself.  To  be  there  or  elsewhere, 
what  difference  did  it  make  to  me?  .  .  . 
When  I  contemplated  the  men  of  a  certain 


Stors  of  a  Gbftfc*         221 

age  who  surrounded  me,  those  occupying 
the  most  honorable  positions,  -who  had  every 
claim  to  respect  and  consideration,  I  would 
say  to  myself:  "  It  will  some  day  be  neces- 
sary for  me  to  live  a  useful,  sedate  life  in  a 
given  place  and  fixed  sphere  as  they  do,  and 
to  grow  old  as  they  are  —  and  that  is  all !  " 
And  a  bitter  hopelessness  overwhelmed  me 
as  I  brooded  on  the  thought ;  I  yearned  for 
the  impossible  ;  I  longed  most  of  all  to  remain. 
a  child  forever;  and  the  reflection  that  the 
years  were  fleeing,  and  that,  whether  I 
would  or  would  hot,  I  must  become  a  man, 
was  anguish  to  me. 


222         Ube  Stors  ot  a  CbUfc* 


CHAPTER   LV. 

TWICE  a  week,  in  the  history  classes,  I 
came  in  contact  with  the  naval  students. 
To  give  themselves  a  sailor-like  appearance 
they  wore  red  sashes,  and  they  constantly 
drew  ships  and  anchors  on  their  copy-books. 

I  never  dreamed  of  that  career  for  myself; 
scarcely  oftener  than  once  or  twice  had  such 
a  thought  passed  through  my  mind,  and  then 
it  had  disquieted  me :  it  was,  however,  the 
only  life  in  which  I  could  indulge  my  taste 
for  travel  and  adventure.  It  terrified  me, 
this  naval  career,  more  than  any  other,  be- 
cause of  the  long  exiles  it  imposed,  exiles 
that  faith  could  no  longer  make  seem  endu- 
rable, as  in  the  days  when  I  had  expressed  a 
desire  to  become  a  missionary. 

To  go  far  away  as  my  brother  had  done ; 
to  be  separated  from  my  mother  and  other 
beloved  ones  for  years  and  years ;  not  to  see 
during  that  time  the  little  yard  reclothe  it- 
self in  green  at  the  coming  of  the  spring,  nor 
to  see  the  roses  bloom  upon  the  old  wall, 
no,  I  had  not  the  courage  to  undertake  it. 

Besides  it  was  assumed,  doubtless  because 


Stors  of  a  Cbilfc*         223 

of  my  peculiar  education,  that  such  a  rough 
life  was  wholly  unsuited  to  me.  And  I  knew 
very  well,  from  some  words  that  had  been 
spoken  in  my  hearing,  that  should  so  wild 
an  idea  gain  a  lodgment  with  me,  my  parents 
would  withhold  their  consent  and  thwart  me 
in  every  way. 


224         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbiifc. 


CHAPTER   LVI. 

ON  my  Thursday  holidays  during  the 
winter,  after  having  finished  my  duties 
and  accomplished  all  my  school  tasks,  I  felt 
the  greatest  homesickness  when  I  mounted 
to  my  museum.  It  was  always  a  little  late 
when  I  finished  my  lessons,  and  the  light 
was  usually  fading  when  I  looked  down  at 
the  great  meadows  that  appeared  inexpres- 
sibly melancholy  as  they  stretched  before 
me  enwrapped  in  a  grayish-pink  mist.  I 
was  homesick  for  the  summer,  homesick 
for  the  sun  and  the  south,  all  of  which  were 
suggested  by  the  butterflies  from  my  uncle's 
garden,  that  I  had  arranged  and  pinned  under 
glass,  and  by  the  mountain  fossils  that  the 
little  Peyrals  and  I  had  collected  in  the 
summer  time. 

It  was  a  foretaste  of  that  longing  for  some- 
where else  which  later,  after  my  return  from 
long  voyages  to  tropical  countries,  spoiled 
my  visits  to  my  home. 

Oh  !  there  was  in  particular  the  pinkish- 
yellow  butterfly !  There  were  times  when  I 
experienced  a  bitter  pleasure  in  seeking  to 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbiifc.         225 

understand  the  great  sadness  that  it  caused 
me.  It  was  in  a  glass  case  at  the  far  end  of 
the  room ;  its  two  colors  so  fresh  and  un- 
usual, like  a  Chinese  painting,  or  a  fairy's 
robe,  were  exquisite  foils  for  each  other ;  the 
butterfly  formed  a  luminous  whole  that 
shone  out  brightly  in  the  gray  twilight,  and 
it  caused  the  other  butterflies  surrounding  it 
to  look  as  dull  as  dun-colored  little  bats. 

As  soon  as  my  eyes  rested  upon  it,  I  seemed 
to  hear  drawled  out  lazily,  in  a  mountaineer's 
treble,  the  refrain  :  "  Ah  !  ah  !  the  good, 
good  story!"  And  again  I  saw  the  white 
porch  of  Bories  in  the  midst  of  the  silence 
and  the  hot  sunshine  of  a  summer  noon. 
A  deep  regret  for  past  and  gone  vacations 
took  possession  of  me ;  I  felt  saddened 
when  I  tried  to  recreate  days  belonging  to 
a  dead  past,  and  tried  to  imagine  vacations 
still  to  come ;  but  mingled  in  with  senti- 
ments that  I  can  name,  there  were  those 
other  inexpressible  ones  that  well  up  from 
the  unfathomable  deeps  of  one's  being. 

This  association  between  the  butterfly,  the 
song  and  Bories,  caused  me  for  a  long  time 
an  extreme  sadness  that,  try  as  hard  as  I 
may,  I  cannot  explain  satisfactorily ;  and  the 
feeling  continued  until  stormy  and  tempes- 
tuous winds  swept  over  my  life  and  carried 
away  with  them  the  small  concerns  belong- 
ing to  my  childhood. 


226         ttbe  Stors  of  a  CbiU>* 

Sometimes,  upon  gray  winter  evenings, 
when  I  looked  at  the  butterfly,  I  would  sing 
to  myself  the  little  refrain  of  the  "good, 
good  story;"  to  accomplish  this  I  had  to 
make  my  voice  very  flute-like ;  and  as  I  sang, 
the  porch  of  Bories  appeared  to  me  more 
vividly  than  ever,  as  it  stood,  sunny  but 
desolate,  under  the  dazzling  light  of  the 
September  noon.  This  association  was  a 
little  like  the  one  that  later  established  itself 
for  me  between  the  sad  falsetto  of  the  Arab 
songs,  the  snowy  splendor  of  their  mosques 
and  the  winding-sheet  whiteness  of  their 
lime-washed  porticos. 

That  butterfly  in  all  the  freshness  and 
radiance  of  its  two  strange  colors,  mummi- 
f  fied,  it  is  true,  but  as  brilliant  looking  as 
ever  under  its  glass,  retains  for  me  a  sort  of 
old-time  charm  which  I  cherish.  The  little 
St.  Hermangardes,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for 
many  years,  and  who  are  now  attached  to 
an  embassy  somewhere  in  the  Orient,  would 
doubtless,  should  they  read  this,  be  much 
astonished  to  learn  what  value  circumstances 
has  given  to  their  little  present. 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc.        227 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

THE  chief  event  of  these  winters,  so 
poisoned  by  my  college  life,  was  the 
gift-giving  festival  that  we  had  at  New  Year. 

At  about  the  end  of  November  it  was  our 
custom,  my  sister's,  Lucette's  and  mine,  to 
make  out  a  list  of  the  things  we  desired 
most.  Everybody  in  the  two  families  pre- 
pared surprises  for  us,  and  the  mystery  sur- 
rounding these  gifts  was  our  most  exquisite 
pleasure  during  the  last  days  of  the  year. 
Between  parents,  grandmother  and  aunts 
there  occurred,  to  excite  my  curiosity  still 
further,  conversations  full  of  mysterious 
hints,  and  whisperings  that  were  hastily 
discontinued  as  soon  as  I  appeared. 

Between  Lucette  and  me  it  became  a  real 
guessing  game.  As  in  the  play  of  "  Words 
with  a  double  meaning,"  we  had  the  right 
to  ask  certain  pointed  questions,  —  for  ex- 
ample we  asked  the  most  ridiculous  ones, 
such  as  :  "  Has  it  hair  like  an  animal  ?  " 

And  the  answers  went  something  after 
this  fashion: 

"What  your  father  is  to  give  you  (a  dress- 
ing-case made  of  leather)  had  hair,  but  it  has 


228          Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbtlfc. 

none  now,  except  on  some  portion  of  its 
interior  (brushes),  and  that  is  false.  Your 
mamma's  present  (a  fur  muff)  still  has  some 
hair.  What  your  aunt  is  to  give  you  (a 
lamp)  will  help  you  to  see  the  hair  on  the 
others  better ;  but,  let  me  see,  yes,  I  am 
sure  that  that  has  none. 

In  the  December  twilights,  in  that  hour 
between  daylight  and  darkness,  we  would 
sit  upon  our  low  stools  before  the  wood-fire, 
and  continue  our  series  of  questions  from 
day  to  day.  We  grew  ever  more  eager  and 
excited  until  the  3ist,  and  in  the  evening 
of  that  momentous  day  the  mysteries  were 
revealed. 

That  day  the  presents  for  the  two  families, 
wrapped,  tied  and  labeled,  were  piled  upon 
tables  in  a  room  closed  against  Lucette  and 
me.  At  eight  o'clock  the  doors  were  thrown 
open  and  we  filed  in,  the  elders  going  first, 
and  each  one  of  us  sought  for  his  own  gift 
among  the  heap  of  white  parcels.  For  me 
the  moment  of  entry  was  an  exceedingly 
joyous  one,  and  until  I  was  twelve  or  thir- 
teen years  of  age,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
jumping  and  leaping  like  a  kid  long  before 
it  came  time  for  us  to  cross  the  threshold. 

We  had  supper  at  eleven,  and  when  the 
clock  in  the  dining  room  struck  the  midnight 
hour,  tranquilly,  in  harmony  with  the  sound 


Ube  Story  of  a  Cbflt>*         229 

of  its  calm  stroke,  we  separated  in  the  first 
moments  of  those  New  Years  that  are  now,  ^ 
buried  under  the  ashes  of  many  succeeding 
ones.  And  on  those  evenings  I  fell  asleep 
with  all  my  gifts  in  my  room  near  me.  I 
even  kept  the  favorite  ones  upon  my  bed. 
The  following  morning  I  always  waked 
earlier  than  usual  so  that  I  might  re-ex- 
amine them ;  they  cast  a  spell  of  enchant- 
ment over  that  winter  morning,  the  first 
one  of  a  new  year. 

Once  there  was,  among  my  presents,  a 
large  illustrated  book  treating  of  the  ante- 
diluvian world. 

Through  the  study  of  fossils  I  had  already 
been  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  pre- 
historic creations.  I  knew  something  about 
those  terrible  creatures  that  in  geologic  times 
shook  the  primitive  forests  with  their  heavy 
tread ;  for  a  long  time  the  thought  of  them 
disquieted  me.  —  I  found  them  all  in  my 
book  pictured  in  their  proper  habitat,  sur- 
rounded by  great  brakes,  and  standing  under 
a  leaden  sky. 

The  antediluvian  world  already  haunted 
my  imagination  and  became  the  constant 
subject  of  my  dreams  ;  often  I  concentrated 
my  whole  mind  upon  it,  and  endeavored  to 
picture  to  myself  one  of  its  gigantic  land- 
scapes that  seemed  ever  enveloped  in  a 


230         tTbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

sinister  and  gloomy  twilight  with  a  back- 
ground filled  in  with  great  moving  shadows. 
Then  when  the  vision  thus  created  took  on  a 
seeming  reality  I  felt  an  inexpressible  sad- 
ness that  was  like  an  exhalation  of  the  soul, 
—  as  soon  as  the  emotion  passed  the  dream- 
structure  vanished. 

Soon  after  this  I  sketched  a  new  scene 
for  the  "  Donkey's  Skin  ;  "  it  was  one  repre- 
senting the  liassic  period.  I  painted  a  dis- 
mal swamp  overshadowed  by  lowering 
clouds,  where,  in  the  shave-grass  and  the 
gigantic  ferns,  strange  extinct  beasts  wan- 
dered slowly. 

The  play  of  the  "  Donkey's  Skin  "  seemed 
no  longer  the  same  Donkey's  Skin.  I  dis- 
carded one  by  one  the  little  stage  people 
who  now  offended  me  by  their  uncompromi- 
sing doll-like  stiffness  ;  they  were  relegated 
to  their  card-board  box,  the  poor  little  things, 
•where  they  slept  the  sleep  eternal,  and  with- 
out doubt  they  will  never  be  exhumed. 

My  new  scenes  had  nothing  in  common 
with  the  old  fairy  spectacle :  in  the  depths  of 
virgin  forests,  in  exotic  gardens,  and  oriental 
palaces  formed  of  pearls  and  gold  I  tried  to 
realize,  with  the  small  means  at  my  com- 
mand, all  my  dreams,  while  waiting  for  that 
improbable  better  time  that  ever  lies  in  the 
future. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc*        231 


CHAPTER    LVIII. 

>T"rHAT  hard  winter  ^passed  under  the 
1  ferule  of  the  "Bull  of  Apis"  and  the 
"Great  Ape,"  finally  came  to  an  end  and 
spring  returned ;  it  was  always  a  troublous 
time  for  us,  the  scholars,  for  the  first  mild 
days  gave  us  a  great  longing  to  be  out, 
and  we  could  scarcely  hide  our  restlessness. 
The  roses  budded  every  where  upon  our  old 
walls ;  my  beloved  little  garden,  bright  and 
warm  under  the  March  sunshine,  tempted 
me,  and  I  would  tarry  there  a  long  time  to 
watch  the  insects  wake  up,  and  to  see  the 
early  butterflies  and  bees  fly  away.  Even 
the  revised  "  Donkey's  Skin  "  was  neglected. 

I  was  no  longer  escorted  to  and  from 
school,  for  I  had  persuaded  my  family  to 
discontinue  a  custom  that  made  me  ridicu- 
lous in  the  eyes  of  my  companions.  Often, 
before  returning  home,  I  would  take  a  long 
and  roundabout  way  and  pass  by  the  peace- 
ful ramparts  from  where  I  had  glimpses  of 
other  provinces,  and  a  sight  of  the  distant 
country. 

I  worked  with  even  less  zeal  than  usual 


232         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 

that  spring,  for  the  beautiful  weather  that 
tempted  me  out  of  doors  turned  my  head 
and  made  study  almost  impossible. 

Assuredly  one  of  the  things  for  which  I 
had  the  least  aptitude  was  French  composi- 
tion ;  I  generally  composed  a  mere  rough 
draught  without  a  particle  of  embellishment 
to  redeem  it.  In  the  class  there  was  a  boy 
who  'was  a  very  eagle,  and  he  always  read 
his  lucubrations  aloud.  Oh !  with  what 
unction  he  read  out  his  pretty  creations ! 
(He  is  now  settled  in  a  manufacturing 
town,  and  has  become  the  most  prosaic  of 
petty  bailiffs.)  One  day  the  subject  given 
out  was  :  "  A  Shipwreck."  To  me  the  words 
had  a  lyrical  sound !  But,  nevertheless, 
I  handed  in  my  paper  with  only  the  title 
and  my  name  inscribed  upon  it.  No,  I 
could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  elaborate 
the  subjects  given  to  us  by  the  "  Great 
Ape";  a  sort  of  instinctive  good  taste  kept 
me  from  writing  trite  commonplaces,  and 
as  for  putting  down  things  of  my  own  im- 
agining, the  knowledge  that  they  would  be 
read  and  picked  to  pieces  by  the  old  bogey 
made  it  impossible  for  me  to  compose  any- 
thing. 

I  loved,  however,  even  at  this  time,  to 
write  for  myself,  but  I  did  it  with  the 
greatest  secrecy.  Not  in  the  desk  in  my 


Stors  of  a  Gbil&.         233 

room  that  was  profaned  by  lesson  and  copy- 
books, but  in  the  little,  old-fashioned  one 
that  was  part  of  the  furniture  of  my  mu- 
seum, there  was  hidden  away  a  unique 
thing  that  represented  my  first  attempt  at 
a  journal.  It  looked  like  a  sibyl's  conjuring 
book,  or  an  Assyrian  manuscript ;  a  seem- 
ingly endless  strip  of  paper  was  rolled  upon 
a  reed ;  at  the  head  of  this  there  were  two 
varieties  of  the  Egyptian  sphinx  and  a  caba- 
listic star  drawn  in  red  ink,  —  and  under 
these  mysterious  signs  I  wrote  down,  upon 
the  full  length  of  the  paper  and  in  a  cipher 
of  my  own  invention,  daily  events  and  re- 
flections. A  year  later,  however,  because 
of  the  labor  involved  in  transcribing  the 
cryptographic  characters  I  had  chosen  I  dis- 
carded them  and  used  the  ordinary  letters ; 
but  I  continued  my  work  with  the  greatest 
secrecy,  and  I  kept  my  manuscript  under 
lock  and  key  as  if  it  were  an  interdicted 
book.  I  inscribed  there,  not  so  much  the 
events  of  my  almost  colorless  existence,  as 
my  incoherent  impressions,  the  melancholy 
that  I  felt  at  twilight,  my  regret  for  passed 
summers,  and  my  dreams  of  distant  coun- 
tries. ...  I  already  had  a  longing  to  give 
my  fugitive  emotions  a  determinative  quality, 
I  needed  to  wrestle  against  my  own  weak- 
nesses and  frailties  and  to  banish,  if  pos- 


£34         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbtlb. 

sible,  the  dream-like  element  that  I  seemed 
to  discover  in  all  the  things  about  me,  and 
for  that  reason  I  continued  my  journal  until 
a  few  years  ago.  .  .  .  But  at  that  time  the 
mere  idea  that  a  day  might  come  "when 
some  one  -would  have  a  peep  at  it  was  insup- 
portable to  me;  so  much  so  indeed  that  if 
I  left  home  and  went  to  the  Island  or  else- 
where for  a  few  days,  I  always  took  care  to 
seal  up  my  journal,  and  with  the  greatest 
solemnity  I  wrote  upon  the  packet :  "  It  is 
my  last  wish  that  this  book  be  burned  with- 
out being  read." 

God  knows,  I  have  changed  since  then. 
But  it  would  be  going  too  far  beyond  the 
limits  of  this  story  of  my  childhood  to  re- 
count here  through  what  changes  in  my  life's 
view-point  it  chances  that  I  now  sing  aloud 
of  my  woes,  and  cry  out  to  the  passers-by, 
for  the  purpose  of  drawing  to  myself  the 
sympathy  of  distant  unknown  ones ;  and  I 
call  out  with  the  greater  anguish  in  propor- 
tion as  I  feel  myself  approaching  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  final  dust.  .  .  .  And  who 
knows  ?  perhaps  as  I  grow  older  I  may  write 
of  those  still  more  sacred  things  which  at 
present  cannot  be  forced  from  me,  —  and  by 
that  means  try  to  prolong  beyond  the  bounds 
of  my  individual  life,  memory  of  my  being, 
of  my  sorrows,  and  joys,  and  love. 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Gbilfc.        235 


CHAPTER   LIX. 

THE  return  that  spring  of  little  Jeanne's 
father  from  a  sea  voyage  interested  me 
greatly.  For  several  days  her  house  -was 
topsy-turvy  with  preparation,  and  one  could 
guess  the  joy  they  felt  over  his  approaching 
arrival.  The  frigate  that  he  commanded 
reached  port  a  little  earlier  than  his  family 
expected  it,  and  from  my  "window  I  saw  him, 
one  fine  evening,  hurrying  along  the  street 
alone,  on  his  way  home  to  surprise  his 
people.  He  had  arrived  from  I  know  not 
which  distant  colony  after  an  absence  of  two 
or  three  years,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  me 
that  he  was  the  least  altered  in  appearance. 
.  .  .  One  could  then  return  to  his  home 
unchanged  ?  They  did  come  to  an  end  after 
all,  those  years  of  exile,  which  now  I  find,  in 
truth,  much  shorter  than  they  seemed  in 
those  days  !  My  brother  himself  was  to  re- 
turn the  following  autumn,  and  it  would 
doubtless  then  seem  as  if  he  had  never  been 
away  from  us. 

And  what  joyous  events  those  home-corn- 


236          TTbe  Stors  of  a  Gbilfc* 

ings  were !  And  what  a  distinction  sur- 
rounded those  who  had  but  newly  returned 
from  so  great  a  distance  ! 

The  next  day  in  Jeanne's  yard  I  watched 
them  unpack  the  enormous  wooden  boxes 
that  her  father  had  brought  from  strange 
countries  ;  some  of  them  were  covered  with 
tarpaulin  cloth, — pieces  of  sails  no  doubt,  that 
were  impregnated  with  the  agreeable  odor 
of  the  ship  and  the  sea ;  two  sailors  wearing 
large  blue  collars  were  busy  uncording  and 
unscrewing  them  ;  and  they  took  from  them 
strange  looking  objects  that  had  an  odor  of 
the  "  colonies  ;  "  straw  mats,  water  jars  and 
Chinese  vases ;  even  cocoanuts  and  other 
tropical  fruits. 

Jeanne's  grandfather,  himself  an  old  sea- 
man, was  standing  near  me  watching  from 
the  corner  of  his  eye  the  process  of  unpack- 
ing; suddenly,  from  between  the  boards  of 
a  case  that  was  being  broken  open  with  a 
hatchet,  there  crawled  out  hastily  some  ugly 
little  brown  insects  that  the  sailors  jumped 
on  with  their  feet  and  destroyed. 

"  Cockroaches  are  they  not,  Captain  ?  " 
I  inquired  of  the  grandfather. 

"  Ha !  how  do  you  know  that,  you  little 
landlubber?  "  he  laughingly  responded. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  never  seen  any 
such  insects  before ;  but  uncles  who  had 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbfto.         237 

lived  in  the  tropics  often  spoke  of  them. 
And  I  was  delighted  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  these  tiny  creatures  that  are  pecu- 
liar to  ships  and  to  warm  countries. 


238        Ubc  Story  ot  a  Cbiifc. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

SPRING!     Spring! 
The -white  roses  and  the  jasmine  bloomed 
on  our  old  garden  wall,  and  the  deliciously 
fragrant  honeysuckle  hung  its  long  garlands 
over  it. 

I  began  to  live  there  from  morning  until 
night  in  closest  intimacy  -with  the  plants 
and  the  old  stones.  I  listened  to  the  sound 
of  the  -water  as  it  plashed  in  the  shade  of 
the  majestic  plum  tree,  I  studied  the  grasses 
and  the  wood  mosses  that  grew  at  the  edge 
of  my  little  lake ;  and  upon  the  warm  side 
of  the  garden  -where  the  sun  shone  all 
through  the  day,  the  cactus  put  out  its 
buds. 

My  Wednesday  evening  trips  to  Limoise 
commenced  again,  —  and  it  goes  without 
saying  that  I  dreamed  of  the  beloved  place 
from  one  week  to  the  next,  to  the  detriment 
of  my  lessons  and  my  other  duties. 


Ube  Stotp  of  a  Cbtifc.        239 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

I  BELIEVE  that  that  spring  was  the  most 
radiant  and  the  most  ravishingly  happy 
one  of  my  childhood,  in  contrast  no  doubt 
to  the  terrible  winter  spent  under  the  rig- 
orous care  of  the  Great  Ape. 

Oh !  the  end  of  May,  the  high  grass  and 
then  the  June  mowing !  In  what  a  glory  of 
golden  light  I  see  it  all  again  ! 

I  took  evening  walks  with  my  father  and 
sister  as  I  had  done  during  my  earlier  years  ; 
they  now  came  to  meet  me  at  the  close  of 
school,  at  half-past  four,  and  we  set  out  im- 
mediately for  the  fields.  Our  preference 
that  spring  was  for  a  certain  meadow  abloom 
with  pink  amourettes ;  and  I  always  brought 
home  great  bouquets  of  these  flowers. 

In  that  same  meadow  a  migratory  and 
ephemeral  species  of  moth,  black  and  pink 
(of  the  same  pink  as  the  amourettes)  had 
hatched  out,  and  they  slept  poised  on  the 
long  stalks  of  the  grass,  or  flew  away  as 
lightly  as  the  flowers  shed  their  petals  when 
wfe  walked  through  the  hay.  .  .  .  And  all  of 
these  things  appear  to  me  again  as  I  saw 


240        Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbflfc. 

them  in  the  exquisite,  limpid  June  atmos- 
phere. .  .  .  During  the  afternoon  classes, 
the  thought  of  the  sun-dappled  meadows 
made  me  more  restless  than  did  even  the 
mild  air  and  the  spring  odors  that  came  in 
through  the  open  windows0 

I  cherish  particularly  the  remembrance  of 
an  evening  in  which  my  mother  had  prom- 
ised, as  a  special  favor,  to  join  us  in  our 
walk  to  the  field  of  pink  amourettes.  That 
afternoon  I  had  been  more  inattentive  than 
usual,  and  the  Great  Ape  had  threatened  to 
keep  me  in,  and  all  during  my  lessons  I 
firmly  believed  that  I  was  to  be  punished. 
This  keeping  in  after  school,  which  shut 
us  away  from  the  beautiful  June  day  an 
hour  longer,  was  always  a  cruel  torture. 
But  to-day  my  heart  felt  particularly  heavy 
as  I  reflected  that  mamma  would,  doubtless, 
come  at  the  appointed  hour  and  expect 
me,  —and  with  some  bitterness  I  thought 
that  the  spring-time  "was  so  very  short,  that 
the  hay  would  soon  need  to  be  cut,  and 
that  perhaps  there  would  not  be,  the  whole 
summer  long,  such  another  glorious  evening 
as  this  one. 

As  soon  as  school  was  over  I  anxiously 
consulted  the  fatal  list  in  the  hands  of  the 
monitor ;  my  name  was  not  there !  The 
Big  Black  Ape  had  forgotten  me,  or  had 
been  merciful! 


TTbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc.          241 

Oh  !  with  what  joy  I  rushed  away  to  join 
mamma  who  had  kept  her  promise  and  who, 
with  my  father  and  sister,  smilingly  awaited 
me.  .  .  .  The  air  that  I  breathed  in  was 
more  delicious  than  ever,  it  was  exquisitely 
soft  and  balmy,  and  the  atmosphere  had  a 
tropical  resplendence. 

When  I  recall  that  time,  when  I  think  of 
those  meadows  all  abloom  with  amourettes, 
and  of  those  pink  moths,  there  is  mingled,  to 
my  regret,  a  sort  of  indefinable  pain  whose 
intensity  I  cannot  understand,  an  anguish  I 
always  feel  when  I  find  myself  in  the  pres- 
ence of  things  that  impress  and  charm  me 
with  their  undercurrent  of  mystery 


242         Ube  Stors  of  a  GbiU>. 


CHAPTER   LXII. 

I  HAVE  already  said  that  I  was  extraordi- 
narily childish  for  my  years. 

If  the  personage  I  then  was  could  but  be 
brought  into  the  presence  of  the  little  Parisian 
boys  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  educated  accord- 
ing to  the  more  perfect  modern  method,  who 
at  so  early  an  age  declaim,  discuss  and  ha- 
rangue, and  entertain  all  sorts  of  political 
ideas,  I  would,  I  am  sure,  be  struck  dumb 
by  their  discourses,  and  how  singular  they 
•would  find  me  and  with  what  disdain  they 
would  treat  me ! 

I  am  myself  astonished  at  the  childishness 
that  I  displayed  in  certain  ways,  for  in 
artistic  perception  and  imagination,  in  spite 
of  my  lack  of  method,  and  lack  of  real  knowl- 
edge, I  was  incontestably  more  advanced 
than  are  the  majority  of  boys  of  my  age ;  if 
that  youthful  journal,  the  strip  of  paper 
wrapped  about  a  reed  in  the  similitude  of  a 
conjuring-book,  of  which  I  spoke  a  short 
time  ago,  were  still  in  existence  it  would 
emphasize  twenty  fold  this  pale  record,  on 
'which  it  seems  to  me  there  has  already 
fallen  the  dust  of  ages. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc*        243 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 

MY  room,  where  I  now  scarcely  ever  in- 
stalled myself  to  study,  and  which  I 
seldom  entered  except  at  night  to  sleep,  be- 
came, during  the  beautiful  month  of  June, 
my  palace  of  delight,  and  I  went  there  after 
dinner  to  enjoy  the  long,  and  mild,  and  beau- 
tiful twilights.  I  had  invented  a  sport  which 
I  deemed  an  improvement  upon  the  rag-rat 
trick  that  the  dirty  little  street  urchins 
whisked,  at  the  end  of  long  strings,  about 
the  feet  and  legs  of  the  passers-by.  My 
game  amused  me  greatly,  and  I  prosecuted 
it  with  vivacity.  It  would,  I  think,  amuse 
me  still  if  I  dared  play  it,  and  I  hope  that  my 
trick  will  be  imitated  by  all  the  youngsters 
who  are  imprudently  allowed  to  read  this 
chapter. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  street,  just  oppo- 
site my  window,  and  similarly  upon  the 
second  floor,  there  lived  the  good  old  maid, 
Miss  Victoire  —  (she  wore  a  great  old- 
fashioned  frilled  cap  and  round  spectacles). 
I  had  obtained  permission  from  her  to  fix  to 
the  fastening  of  her  shutter  a  string  that  I 


244         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbiifc. 

then  brought  all  across  the  street  and  into 
my  window:  the  remainder  of  this  string  I 
rolled  upon  a  stick,  ball-fashion. 

In  the  evening,  as  soon  as  the  light  waned, 
a  bird  of  my  own  manufacture  —  a  sort  of 
absurd  and  impossible  crow,  made  out  of 
iron  wire  and  with  black  silk  wings  —  came 
slyly  from  between  my  Venetian  blinds  that 
I  immediately  closed  after  the  exit  of  the 
creature,  this  bird  descended  in  a  droll  way 
and  poised  on  the  paving  stones  in  the  middle 
of  the  street.  A  ring  on  which  it  was  sus- 
pended, and  which  allowed  it  to  slip  freely 
the  length  of  the  string,  was  not  visible  be- 
cause of  the  dim  light,  and  from  time  to  time 
I  made  the  crow  hop  and  skip  comically 
about  on  the  ground. 

And  when  the  passers-by  paused  to  gaze 
at  this  unlikely  looking  bird  that  fluttered 
about  so  gayly  —  whiz !  I  would  pull  the 
string  that  I  held  firmly  in  my  hand,  and 
the  bird  would  leap  from  under  their  very 
noses  and  mount  high  in  the  air. 

Oh !  how  amused  I  was,  those  beautiful 
evenings,  when  I  peeped  out  from  behind 
my  Venetian  blinds ;  how  I  laughed  to  my- 
self over  the  surprised  ejaculations  and  the 
bewilderment  of  those  fooled,  and  how  I 
enjoyed  rehearsing  to  myself  their  prob- 
able reflections  and  guesses.  And  to  me 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc,         245 

the  most  astonishing  part  was  that  after 
the  first  moment  of  surprise,  the  persons 
whom  I  tricked  laughed  as  heartily  as  I ;  it 
should  be  mentioned  that  the  majority  of 
those  passing  were  neighbors  who  must 
certainly  have  had  some  inkling  of  the 
mystifying  joke  about  to  be  played  on  them. 
I  was  much  loved  in  my  neighborhood  at 
that  time.  Or  if  the  pedestrians  chanced  to 
be  sailors,  the  easy  going  fellows,  them- 
selves only  grown  children,  were  much  de- 
lighted with  my  child's  play. 

What  will  always  remain  an  incompre- 
hensible mystery  to  me  is  that  in  my  family, 
where  we  seldom  sinned  through  an  excess 
of  reserve  towards  each  other,  they  shut 
their  eyes  to  my  trick,  and  thus  tacitly  gave 
me  permission  to  play  it  during  the  entire 
spring;  I  am  not  able  to  explain  to  myself 
how  it  chanced  that  they  failed  to  correct 
me,  and  the  years  instead  of  clearing  up  this 
mystery  only  serve  to  intensify  it. 

That  black  bird  has  naturally  become  one 
of  my  many  relics ;  at  intervals,  during  the 
past  two  or  three  years,  I  have  looked  a^&t ; 
it  is  somewhat  dingy,  but  it  always  recalls 
to  me  the  beautiful  evenings  in  June,  now 
vanished,  the  delicious  intoxication  of  that 
spring-time  of  long  ago. 


246        Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 


CHAPTER    LXIV. 

THOSE  Thursdays  at  Limoise,  when  the 
fierce  heat  of  the  noon-day  sun  over- 
whelmed everything,  and  the  country  side 
lay  asleep  and  silent  under  its  pitiless  rays, 
it  was  my  habit  to  clamber  up  to  the  top  of 
the  old  wall  that  enclosed  the  garden,  and 
there  I  sat  astride  and  immovable  for  a 
long  time.  The  branching  ivy  reached  to  my 
shoulders  and  innumerable  flies  and  locusts 
buzzed  around  me.  From  the  height  of  this 
observatory  I  had  a  view  of  the  hot  and 
lonely  region  lying  beyond,  of  the  moorland 
and  woodland,  and  from  there  I  saw  a  thin 
white  veil  of  mist  that  was  agitated  cease- 
lessly by  the  waves  of  heat,  as  the  surface  of 
a  tiny  lake  is  ruffled  by  the  least  wind. 
Those  horizons  seen  from  Limoise  still  had 
for  me  the  strange  mystery  I  had  endowed 
them  with  in  the  first  summers  of  my  life. 
The  region  visible  from  the  top  of  the  wall 
was  a  rather  solitary  one,  and  I  tried  to 
make  myself  believe  that  the  waste  land  and 
woodland  was  a  veritable  untrodden  country 
that  stretched  out  indefinitely ;  and  although 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc.         247 

I  now  knew  well  that  about  me  every- 
where there  were  roads,  cultivated  fields, 
and  prosperous  villages,  I  succeeded  in 
clinging  to  the  illusion  that  the  surrounding 
country  and  contiguous  lands  were  wild  and 
primitive. 

And  the  better  to  deceive  myself  I  took 
care  to  shut  out,  by  looking  through  my  fin- 
gers folded  together  spy-glass  fashion,  all  that 
would  have  spoiled  for  me  the  impression 
of  loneliness ;  an  old  farm  house,  for  instance, 
with  its  bit  of  cultivated  vineyard  and  smooth 
road. 

And  there  all  alone,  in  that  silence  mur- 
murous with  the  buzzing  of  many  insects, 
distracted  by  nothing,  always  turning  my 
hollowed  hand  towards  the  most  desolate 
portion  of  the  landscape,  I  succeeded  in 
gaming  an  impression  of  distant,  tropical 
countries. 

I  had  impressions  of  Brazil  particularly, 
but  I  do  not  know  why  in  those  moments  of 
contemplation  the  neighboring  forest  always 
suggested  that  country  to  me. 

In  passing  I  must  describe  this  forest,  the 
first  one  of  all  of  earth's  forests  that  I  knew, 
and  the  one  I  loved  the  best :  the  straight, 
slim  trunks  of  the  ancient  evergreen  oaks,  of 
sombre  foliage,  were  like  the  columns  of  a 
church ;  not  a  particle  of  brush  grew  under 


248         ttbe  Stors  of  a  Gbfifc. 

them,  but  the  dry  soil  was  covered  all  the 
year  with  the  most  exquisite  short  grass, 
soft  and  fine  as  down,  and  here  and  there 
grew  furze,  drop  wort  and  other  rare  flowers 
that  thrive  in  the  shade. 


Stors  of  a  Cbflfc,         240 


CHAPTER   LXV. 

THE  Iliad  was  being  explained  to  us  in 
class,  —  no  doubt  I  would  have  loved 
it,  but  our  master  had  made  it  odious  by  his 
analysis,  his  difficult  tasks  and  his  parrot- 
like  recitals  ;  —  but  suddenly  I  stopped  filled 
with  admiration  of  this  famous  line, 


f$rj  8*  cucecov  irapo.  Qlva  Tro\v<f>Xotj3oio 

Bd  d'akeon  para  thina  polyfloisboio  Thalassas.1 
whose   end   is   musical   as   the    murmur  of 
the   waves   of   the   incoming    tide    as    they 
spread  their  sheets  of  foam  upon  the  pebbly 
shore. 

"  Observe,"  Said  the  Big  Ape,  "  observe 
the  inceptive  harmony." 

Zounds  !  yes,  I  had  observed  it.  Little 
need  to  take  the  trouble  to  point  out  such 
a  sentence  to  me. 

I  had  also  a  great  admiration,  less  justified 
perhaps,  for  the  following  lines  from  Virgil  : 

Hinc  adeo  media  est  nobis  via  ;   namque  sepulcrum 
Incipit  apparere  Bianoris. 

Since  the  beginning  of  the  Ecloque  I  had, 
with  the  greatest  interest,  followed  the  two 
i  Iliad,  Book  i,  1.  34. 


250         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc* 

shepherds  as  they  made  their  -way  across 
the  fields  of  ancient  Rome.  I  could  picture 
it  to  myself  so  vividly,  those  Roman  mead- 
ows of  two  thousand  years  ago :  hot,  a  lit- 
tle sterile,  with  thickets  of  almost  petrified 
shrubs,  and  evergreen  oaks  like  the  stony 
moorland  of  Limoise,  where  I  had  experi- 
enced precisely  the  pastoral  charm  that  I 
discovered  in  this  description  of  a  past 
time. 

Onward  went  the  two  shepherds,  and 
suddenly  they  perceived  that  their  journey 
was  half  over,  "  because  the  tomb  of  Bianor 
was  immediately  below  them  ..."  Oh!  how 
vividly  I  saw  the  tomb  of  Bianor  disclose 
itself  to  their  view.  Its  old  stones,  that 
made  a  white  blot  on  the  reddish  road,  were 
covered  with  tiny  sun-scorched  plants,  wild 
thyme  or  marjoram,  and  here  and  there  grew 
stunted  dark  foliaged  shrubs.  .  .  .  And  the 
sonority  of  the  word  Bianoris  with  which 
the  sentence  ended  suddenly  and  magically 
evoked  for  me  the  musical  humming  of  the 
insects  that  buzzed  around  the  two  travel- 
lers who,  upon  that  bygone  day  in  June, 
walked  onward  in  the  great  silence  and  se- 
rene tranquillity  of  the  hot  noon  enkindled 
by  a  younger  sun.  I  was  no  longer  in  the 
schoolroom ;  I  was  in  the  meadows  with 
the  shepherds  walking  with  them  this  radi- 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cb 


ant  summer  day  through  the  sun-scorched 
flowers  and  grass  of  a  Roman  field,  —  but 
still  all  seemed  softened  and  vague  as  if 
looked  at  through  a  telescope  that  had  the 
power  to  draw  into  its  line  of  vision  ages 
long  past. 

Who  knows  ?  Perhaps  if  the  Big  Ape 
could  but  have  divined  the  causes  that  led 
to  my  momentary  inattention  it  might  have 
brought  about  an  understanding  between  us. 


252        Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 


CHAPTER    LXVI. 

ONE  Thursday  evening  at  Limoise,  just 
before  the  inevitable  hour  for  my  de- 
parture, I  went  up  alone  to  the  large,  old 
room  on  the  second  floor  in  which  I  slept. 
First  I  leaned  out  of  the  open  window  to 
watch  the  July  sun  sink  behind  the  stony 
fields  and  fern  heaths  that  lay  towards  the 
sea,  which  though  very  near  us  was  invisi- 
ble. These  sunsets  at  the  end  of  my  Thurs- 
day holidays  always  overwhelmed  me  with 
melancholy. 

During  the  last  minutes  of  my  stay  I  felt 
a  desire,  one  I  had  never  known  before,  to 
rummage  in  the  old  Louis  xv.  bookcase 
that  stood  near  my  bed.  There  among  the 
volumes  in  their  century-old  bindings,  where 
the  worms,  never  disturbed,  slowly  bored 
their  galleries,  I  found  a  book  made  of  thick 
rough  old-fashioned  paper,  and  this  I  opened 
carelessly.  ...  In  it  I  read,  with  a  thrill 
of  emotion,  that  from  noon  until  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  on  the  2oth  of  June,  1813, 
south  of  the  equator,  in  longitude  no  and 
latitude  15  (between  the  tropics,  conse- 


TTbe  Stors  of  a  CbiU>,         253 

quently,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  South 
Pacific  Ocean)  there  was  fair  weather,  a 
beautiful  sea,  a  fine  southeast  breeze,  and 
in  the  sky  many  little  clouds  called  "  cat- 
tails," and  that  alongside  the  ship  dolphins 
were  passing. 

He  who  had  seen  the  dolphins  pass,  and 
who  had  recorded  the  fugitive  cloud  forms 
had  doubtless  been  dead  for  many  years.  I 
knew  that  the  book  was  what  is  called  a 
ship's  log-book,  one  in  which  seafaring 
people  "write  every  day.  Its  appearance  did 
not  strike  me  as  strange,  although  I  had 
never  before  had  one  in  my  hand.  But  for 
me  it  was  a  wonderful  and  unexpected  expe- 
rience to  thus  suddenly  come  into  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  aspect  of  the  sea  and  sky  in  the 
midst  of  the  South  Pacific  Ocean,  at  a  given 
time  in  a  year  long  past.  .  .  .  Oh !  for  a 
glimpse  of  that  beautiful  and  tranquil  sea, 
of  those  "cat-tails"  that  dotted  the  deep 
blue  arch  of  the  sky,  and  of  those  dolphins 
that  swiftly  traversed  the  lonely  southern 
waters ! 

In  this  sailor's  life,  in  this  profession  so 
terrifying  (a  career  forbidden  to  me),  how 
many  delightful  things  happened !  I  had 
never  until  this  evening  realized  it  with 
such  intensity. 

The  memory  of  that  hasty  little  reading  is 


254         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

the  reason  why,  during  my  watches  at  sea, 
whenever  a  helmsman  signals  a  passage  of 
dolphins,  I  have  always  turned  my  eyes  in 
their  direction  to  watch  them ;  and  it  has 
always  given  me  a  peculiar  pleasure  to  note 
the  incident  in  the  log-book,  differing  so  little 
from  the  one  in  which  the  sailors  of  June, 
1813,  had  written  before  me. 


Ube  Storp  of  a  Cbilfc.         255 


CHAPTER   LXVII. 

DURING  the  vacation  that  followed,  our 
departure  for  the  south  and  the  moun- 
tains enchanted  me  more  than  did  my  first 
trip  there. 

As  in  the  preceding  summer  we  started, 
my  sister  and  I,  at  the  beginning  of  August. 
While  it  was  no  longer  a  journey  of  adven- 
ture, the  pleasure  of  returning  and  again  find- 
ing there  all  the  things  that  had  formerly  so 
delighted  me  surpassed  the  charm  of  going 
forth  to  meet  the  unknown. 

Between  the  point  where  the  railroad 
ended  and  the  village  in  -which  our  cousins 
lived,  in  the  course  of  the  long  carriage  ride, 
our  little  coachman,  in  venturing  to  take 
what  he  supposed  a  short  cut,  lost  his  way, 
and  he  carried  us  into  the  most  exquisite 
forest  nooks.  The  weather  was  beautiful 
and  radiant.  With  -what  joy  I  saluted  the 
first  peasant  -women  -whom  I  saw  -walking 
along  with  great  copper  water-jars  upon 
their  heads,  and  the  first  swarthy  peasants 
conversing  in  the  well  remembered  dialect, 
how  I  rejoiced  when  we  rolled  along  over 


256         TTbe  Storp  of  a  Cbilfc. 

the  blood-colored  roads,  and  when  the  moun- 
tain junipers  came  into  view. 

At  about  noon-time  we  stopped  in  a  shady 
valley  in  a  sequestered  village  called  Veyrac 
to  rest  our  horses,  and  we  seated  ourselves 
at  the  foot  of  a  chestnut  tree.  There  we 
•were  attacked  by  the  ducks  of  the  place,  the 
boldest  and  most  ill  bred  in  the  world. 
They  flocked  around  us  in  an  unseemly 
manner,  uttering  shrill  cries  and  quacking 
hideously.  As  we  departed,  even  after  we 
were  in  our  carriage,  these  infuriated  crea- 
tures followed  us ;  whereupon  my  sister 
turned  towards  them,  and  with  all  the  dig- 
nity of  an  old-time  traveller  outraged  by  an 
inhospitable  population  exclaimed :  "Ducks 
of  Veyrac,  be  ye  accursed  !  "  And  for  several 
years  I  could  not  keep  a  straight  face  when 
I  remembered  the  foolish  and  prolonged 
laughter  that  I  indulged  in  at  the  time.  Above 
all  I  cannot  think  of  that  day  without  re- 
gretting the  resplendence  of  the  sun  and  the 
blue  sky,  a  resplendence  that  I  never  see 
now. 

As  we  drew  near  we  were  met  on  our  way 
at  the  bridge  spanning  the  river,  by  our 
cousins  and  the  Peyrals.  I  discovered  with 
pleasure  that  my  little  band  was  complete. 
We  had  all  grown  taller  by  several  inches ; 
but  we  found  immediately  that  we  were  not 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc.          257 

otherwise  changed,  we  were  still  children 
ready  for  the  same  childish  games. 

At  night-fall  there  was  a  terrific  storm. 
And  while  the  thunder  boomed  around  us  as 
if  it  was  bombarding  the  roof  of  my  uncle's 
house,  and  when  all  the  old  stone  gargoyles 
in  the  village  were  pouring  forth  torrents  of 
water  that  rushed  tumultuously  over  the 
black  pebbles  in  the  street,  we  took  refuge, 
the  little  Peyrals  and  I,  in  the  kitchen,  and 
there  we  made  a  racket  and  joyously  danced 
around  in  a  ring. 

It  was  a  very  large  kitchen,  furnished  in  an 
old-fashioned  way  with  a  perfect  arsenal  of 
burnished  copper  utensils  ;  every  variety  of 
pan  and  kettle,  shining  like  pieces  of  armor, 
hung  on  the  halls  in  the  order  of  their  size. 
It  was  almost  dark,  and  from  the  moist  earth 
came  the  fresh  odor  one  usually  smells  after 
a  storm,  after  a  summer  rain ;  and  through 
the  thick  iron-barred  Louis  XIII.  windows 
the  lurid,  green  lightning  flashed  incessantly 
and  blinded  us  and  compelled  us,  in  spite  of 
ourselves,  to  close  our  eyes.  We  turned 
round  and  round  like  mad  beings,  and  sang 
together :  "  The  star  of  night  whose  peaceful 
light.".  .  .  It  was  a  sentimental  song,  never 
intended  for  dance  music,  but  we  scanned 
it  drolly  and  mockingly,  and  thus  made  of  it 
an  accommodating  and  tuneful  dance  meas- 


258         ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 

ure.  We  continued  our  joyous  sport  for 
I  do  not  know  how  long  a  time ;  we  were 
excited  by  the  noise  of  the  storm  and  we 
whirled  around  like  little  dervishes ;  it  was  a 
merry-making  in  celebration  of  my  return ; 
it  was  a  fitting  way  of  inaugurating  the  holi- 
days ;  it  was  a  defiance  to  the  Big  Ape,  and 
it  was  an  appropriate  prologue  to  the  series 
of  expeditions  and  childish  sports  of  every 
kind  that  were  to  recommence,  with  more 
ardor  than  ever,  the  next  day. 


ttbe  Storg  of  a  Cbilfc.         259 


CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

THE  following  morning  at  daybreak  when 
I  awoke,  a  noisy  cadence,  to  which  I 
was  unaccustomed,  fell  upon  my  ears ;  the 
neighboring  weaver  had  already  commenced, 
even  with  the  dawn,  to  work  his  ancient 
loom,  and  the  musical  to  and  fro  of  its  shut- 
tle had  roused  me.  Then  after  the  first 
drowsy,  dreamy  moment  I  remembered, 
with  overwhelming  joy,  that  I  was  at  my 
uncle's  in  the  south ;  that  this  was  the 
morning  of  the  first  day ;  that  I  had  before 
me  the  prospect  of  a  whole  summer  of  out- 
of-door  life  and  wildest  liberty  —  had  August 
and  September,  two  months  that  at  present 
pass  as  quickly  as  if  they  were  but  two  days, 
but  which  then  seemed  of  a  fairly  respect- 
able duration.  With  a  feeling  of  rapture,  after 
I  had  wholly  shaken  off  my  sleep,  I  came  into 
a  full  consciousness  of  myself  and  the  reali- 
ties of  my  life  ;  I  felt  "joy  at  my  waking." 

The  preceding  winter  I  had  read  a  story 
of  the  Indians  of  the  Great  Lakes,  and  one 
thing  in  it  had  impressed  me  so  deeply  that 
I  always  remembered  it :  an  old  Indian  chief, 


260          Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbiifc, 

whose  daughter  -was  pining  away  because  of 
her  love  for  a  white  man,  had  finally  con- 
sented to  give  her  to  the  alien  so  that  she 
might  once  more  feel  "  joy  at  her  waking." 

Joy  at  her  waking  !  Indeed,  for  some  time 
I  had  myself  noticed  that  the  moment  of 
waking  is  always  the  one  in  which  I  had 
the  most  distinct  and  vivid  impression  of 
joy  or  sorrow ;  and  it  is  then,  at  the  waking 
hour,  that  one  finds  it  so  particularly  painful 
to  be  -without  joy;  my  first  little  sorrows 
and  remorses,  my  anxieties  about  the  future, 
were  the  things  that  usually  obtruded  them- 
selves cruelly  —  however  the  feeling  of  sad- 
ness vanished  very  quickly  in  those  days. 

At  a  later  time  I  had  very  gloomy  and  sad 
awakings.  And  there  are  times  now  when 
I  have  moments  of  terrifying  clearness  of 
vision  during  which  I  seem  to  see,  if  I  may  so 
express  it,  into  the  depths  of  life  ;  it  is  at  such 
moments  that  life  presents  itself  to  me  -with- 
out those  pleasing  mirages  that  during  the 
day  still  delude  me ;  during  those  moments 
I  appear  to  have  a  more  vivid  realization 
of  the  rapid  flight  of  the  years,  the  crum- 
bling away  of  all  that  I  endeavor  to  hold 
to,  I  almost  realize  the  final  unimaginable 
nothingness,  I  see  the  bottomless  pit  of 
death,  near  at  hand,  no  longer  in  any  way 
disguised. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc*         261 

But  that  morning  I  had  a  joyful  awak- 
ing, and  unable  to  remain  quietly  in  bed,  I 
rose  immediately.  So  impatient  was  I  to 
be  out  that  I  scarcely  took  time  to  ask 
myself  where  I  should  begin  my  first  day's 
round  of  visits. 

I  had  all  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the  vil- 
lage to  see  again,  the  gothic  ramparts  and 
the  lovely  river;  and  my  uncle's  garden  to 
revisit,  where  probably,  since  last  year,  the 
rarest  butterflies  had  become  domiciled.  I 
had  visits  to  make  to  the  ancient  and  curious 
houses  in  the  neighborhood,  where  lived  all 
the  kind  old  women  who,  in  the  past  sum- 
mer, had  lavished  upon  me  their  most  lus- 
cious grapes  as  if  they  were  my  feudal  due  ; 
—  there  was  in  particular  a  certain  Madame 
Jeanne,  a  rich  old  peasant,  who  had  taken  so 
great  a  fancy  to  me  that  she  liked  to  humor 
my  every  whim,  and  who,  for  my  amuse- 
ment, every  time  she  passed  on  her  "way, 
like  Nausicaa,  from  the  "washing-place, 
looked  comically  out  of  the  corner  of  her 
eyes  towards  my  uncle's  house.  .  .  .  And, 
too,  there  were  the  surrounding  vineyards, 
and  woods,  and  mountain  paths  ;  and  be- 
yond, Castelnau,  rearing  its  battlements  and 
towers  above  the  pedestal  of  chestnuts  and 
oak  trees,  called  me  to  its  ruins !  Where 
should  I  run  first,  and  how  could  I  ever 
weary  of  so  beautiful  a  land ! 


262         ttbe  Stors  of  a 

The  sea,  to  which  I  was  now  scarcely  ever 
taken,  was  for  the  moment  completely  for- 
gotten. 

After  these  two  happy  months  school  was 
to  re-open.  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  it, 
but  its  monotony  would  be  broken  by  a  great 
event,  the  return  of  my  brother.  His  four 
years  were  not  quite  completed;  but  we 
knew  that  he  had  already  left  the  ' c  myste- 
rious island,"  and  we  expected  him  to  ar- 
rive home  in  October.  For  me  it  would  be 
like  becoming  acquainted  with  a  stranger. 
I  was  somewhat  anxious  to  know  whether 
he  would  love  me  when  he  met  me,  if  he 
would  approve  of  a  thousand  little  things  I 
did, — how,  for  instance,  my  way  of  playing 
Beethoven  would  please  him. 

I  thought  constantly  of  his  approaching 
arrival ;  I  was  so  overjoyed,  and  I  antici- 
pated with  so  keen  a  delight  the  change 
his  coming  would  make  in  my  life,  that  I 
did  not  feel  a  particle  of  the  melancholy 
which  usually  beset  me  in  the  autumn. 

I  meant  to  consult  him  about  a  thousand 
troublous  matters,  to  confide  to  him  all  my 
anguish  and  uncertainty  in  regard  to  the 
future;  I  knew  also  that  my  parents  de- 
pended upon  him  to  give  them  definite 
advice  about  me,  and  expected  him  to  direct 
me  towards  a  scientific  career :  that  was  the 
one  dark  spot  upon  his  return. 


Stors  of  a  Cbilfc*        263 

Awaiting  his  dread  decision,  I  threw  aside 
all  care  and  amused  myself  as  gayly  as  pos- 
sible ;  I  put  even  less  restraint  than  usual 
upon  myself  during  the  vacation  which  I 
regarded  as  likely  to  be  the  very  last  of  my 
childhood. 


264         Ube  Storp  ot  a  Cbfifc. 


CHAPTER    LXIX. 

AFTER  the  noon  dinner  it  was  the  cus- 
tom in  my  uncle's  home  to  sit  for  an 
hour  or  two  in  the  entry-way  of  the  house, 
that  vestibule  inlaid  with  flagstones  and 
ornamented  with  a  large,  burnished,  copper 
fountain,  for  it  was  the  coolest  place  during 
the  heated  period  of  the  day.  Here  it  was 
almost  dark,  for  everything  was  closed  ;  two 
or  three  rays  of  sunshine,  in  whose  light  the 
flies  danced,  filtered  in  through  the  cracks  of 
the  massive  Louis  XIII.  door.  In  the  silent 
village  no  one  was  astir,  and  one  heard  there 
only  the  everlasting  clucking  of  the  hens,  — 
all  other  living  creatures  seemed  asleep. 

I,  however,  did  not  remain  long  in  the 
cool  vestibule.  The  bright  sunshine  lured 
me  out ;  and,  too,  scarcely  had  I  installed 
myself  there  in  the  circle  before  I  heard  a 
knocking  at  the  street  door :  the  three  little 
Peyrals  had  come  to  fetch  me,  and  to  apprise 
me  of  their  presence  they  lifted  the  old  iron 
knocker  that  was  hot  enough  to  burn  their 
fingers. 

Then  with  hats  pulled  over  our  eyes  and 


Ube  Storp  of  a  Cbflfc,          265 

equipped  with  hammers,  staffs  and  butterfly- 
nets  we  would  start  out  in  search  of  new 
adventures.  First  we  passed  through  the 
narrow  gothic  streets  paved  -with  pebbles, 
then  we  struck  into  the  paths  that  lay  just 
beyond  the  village,  paths  that  were  always 
covered  with  wheat-chaff  that  got  into  our 
shoes,  and  into  which  we  sank  ankle  deep  ; 
finally  we  reached  the  open  country,  the 
vineyards,  and  the  roads  that  led  to  the 
woods,  or  better  still  those  that  brought  us 
to  the  river  which  we  forded  by  means  of 
the  flower-covered  islets. 

This  wild  liberty  was  a  complete  avenge- 
ment  for  the  monotony  of  my  cribbed  and 
cabined  home  life,  ever  the  same  all  the 
year  through;  but  I  still  lacked  the  com- 
panionship of  little  boys  of  my  own  age,  I 
needed  to  clash  with  them,  —  and,  too,  this 
freedom  lasted  only  a  couple  of  months. 


266         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 


CHAPTER    LXX. 

ONE  day  I  had  a  great  desire,  wherefore 
I  do  not  know,  unless  out  of  pure 
bravado  and  the  spirit  of  perversity,  to  do 
something  unseemly.  After  having  searched 
all  of  one  morning  for  this  something  I 
found  it. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  swarms  of  flies 
which  one  finds  in  the  south  during  the 
summer,  and  which  contaminate  everything, 
are  a  veritable  plague.  I  knew  that  there 
was  a  trap  set  for  them  in  the  middle  of  my 
uncle's  kitchen.  It  was  a  treacherous  pipe 
of  a  special  shape,  at  the  bottom  of  which,  in 
the  soapy  pan  of  water  there,  the  flies  were 
invariably  drowned.  Now  on  the  particular 
day  in  which  I  felt  so  devilish  I  bethought 
me  of  that  disgusting  blackish  mass  at  the 
bottom  of  the  vessel,  made  up  of  the  thou- 
sands of  flies  drowned  during  the  past  two 
or  three  days,  and  I  wondered  what  sort  of 
toothsome  dish  I  should  make  of  it,  a  pan- 
cake, perhaps,  or  better  still,  an  omelette. 

Quickly  and  nervously,  and  with  a  loath- 
ing that  almost  made  me  vomit,  I  poured 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbfto*         267 

the  pasty  black  mass  into  a  plate  and  carried 
it  to  the  house  of  old  Madame  Jeanne,  the 
only  one  in  the  world  -willing  to  do  anything 
and  everything  for  me. 

"  A  fly  omelette  !  To  be  sure  !  why  not ! 
That  is  very  simple  !  "  she  exclaimed.  She 
went  immediately  to  the  fire  with  a  frying 
pan  and  some  eggs.  She  gave  the  unclean 
mess  a  good  preliminary  beating,  and  then 
she  placed  it  on  her  high  and  ancient,  fire- 
place. As  I  watched  her  procedure  I  was 
dismayed  and  surprised  at  myself. 

But  the  three  little  Peyrals,  whom  I  had 
met  unexpectedly,  went  into  such  ecstasies 
over  my  idea,  a  thing  they  always  did,  that 
I  was  fortified  ;  and  when  the  omelette,  at 
just  the  right  time,  was  turned  out  hot  upon 
a  plate  we  started  forth  triumphantly  to 
carry  the  exhibit  home  to  show  to  our 
families.  We  formed  a  procession  in  the 
order  of  our  respective  heights,  and  as  we 
marched  we  sang,  "The  Star  of  Night"  in 
voices  loud  and  hoarse  enough  to  summon 
the  devil  to  earth. 


268         Ube  Stors  ot  a 


CHAPTER   LXXI. 

IN  the  mountains  the  end  of  summer  was 
always  a  beautiful  season,  for  the  mead- 
ows lying  at  the  foot  of  the  hillside  forests, 
already  yellow,  were  purple  with  crocuses. 
Then,  too,  the  vintage  commenced  and  lasted 
for  about  fifteen  days,  —  days  of  enchantment 
for  us. 

We  now  spent  most  of  our  time  in  the 
shady  nooks  of  the  woods  and  meadows  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  Peyral  vineyards ; 
there  we  had  play-dinners  consisting  of 
candy  and  fruits.  "We  would  spread  out 
on  the  grass  what  we  considered  a  most 
elegant  cloth,  and  this  we  decorated,  after 
the  old  fashion,  with  garlands  of  flowers, 
and  we  put  on  it  plates  made  of  yellow  and 
red  vine  leaves.  The  vintagers  brought  us 
the  most  luscious  grapes,  bunches  chosen 
from  among  a  thousand  ;  and,  -with  the  heat 
of  the  sun  to  aid,  -we  sometimes  became  a 
little  tipsy,  not,  however,  made  so  by  sweet 
wine,  for  we  had  drunk  none,  but  by  the  juice 
of  the  grapes  merely,  in  the  self-same  fash- 
ion as  did  the  wasps  and  flies  that  warmed 
themselves  upon  the  trellises.  ... 


Ube  Stors  ot  a  Cbftt>*         269 

One  morning  at  the  end  of  September, 
when  the  weather  was  rainy  and  it  was 
chilly  enough  for  me  to  realize  that  melan- 
choly autumn  was  near  at  hand,  I  was  at- 
tracted into  the  kitchen  by  the  bright  wood 
fire  that  leaped  gaily  in  the  high,  old-fash- 
ioned chimney-place.  And  as  I  stood  there, 
idle  and  out  of  sorts,  because  of  the  rain,  I 
amused  myself  by  melting  a  pewter  plate 
and  plunging  it,  in  its  liquid  state,  into  a 
pail  of  water. 

The  result  was  a  shapeless,  bright,  and 
silvery-gray  lump  which  very  much  re- 
sembled silver-ore.  I  looked  at  the  mass 
thoughtfully  for  some  time :  an  idea  ger- 
minated, and  there  and  then  I  planned  a 
new  amusement  which  became  our  most 
delightful  pastime  during  those  last  days  of 
vacation. 

That  same  evening  we  held  a  conference 
on  the  steps  of  the  great  stairway,  and  I  told 
the  Peyrals  that  from  the  aspect  of  the  soil 
and  the  plants  I  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  there  were  silver  mines  in  this  part  of 
the  country.  As  I  spoke  I  assumed  the 
knowing  and  bold  airs  of  one  of  those  ven- 
turesome scouts,  who  is  usually  the  princi- 
pal personage  in  old-fashioned  stories  of 
American  adventure. 

Searching  for  mines  fell  well  into  line  with 


270         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

the  abilities  of  my  little  band,  for  often,  armed 
with  pick  and  shovel,  they  had  set  out  to 
discover  fossils  or  rare  stones. 

The  next  day,  therefore,  half  way  up  the 
mountain,  when  we  arrived  at  a  path  chosen 
by  me  for  its  appropriateness,  for  it  was  lonely 
and  mysterious,  shut  in  by  forest  trees  and 
embedded  between  high,  moss-grown,  rocky 
banks,  I  stopped  my  little  band  peremptorily, 
as  if  I  were  endowed  with  the  keen  scent  of 
an  Indian  chief.  I  pretended  that  I  had  here 
recognized  the  presence  of  precious  ore-beds  ; 
and,  in  truth,  when  we  dug  in  the  place  I 
indicated  we  found  the  first  nuggets,  the 
melted  plate  that  I  had  buried  there  the  day 
before. 

These  mines  occupied  us  constantly  until 
the  end  of  my  stay.  The  Peyrals  were  con- 
vinced and  full  of  amazement,  and  although 
I  spent  some  time  each  morning  in  the 
kitchen  melting  plates  and  covers  to  feed 
our  vein  of  silver,  I  very  nearly  deluded  my- 
self into  believing  in  the  reality  of  the  mine. 

The  isolated  silent  spot,  so  exquisitely 
beautiful,  where  these  excavations  took  place, 
and  the  melancholy  but  enchanting  serenity 
of  the  end  of  summer,  gave  a  rare  charm  to 
our  little  dream  of  adventure.  We  were, 
however,  most  amusingly  secret  and  mysteri- 
ous in  regard  to  our  discovery;  we  con- 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbiifc.         271 

sidered  it  a  tribal  secret,  and  we  cherished 
it  as  such. 

Our  riches,  mixed  in  with  some  of  the  red 
mountain  soil,  -we  hoarded  in  an  old  trunk 
in  my  uncle's  attic  as  if  the  latter  were  an 
AH  Baba's  cave. 

We  pledged  ourselves  to  leave  it  there 
during  the  winter,  until  the  next  vacation, 
at  which  time  we  counted  upon  making  addi- 
tions to  our  treasure. 


272         Ube  Storp  of  a  CbiU>, 


CHAPTER   LXXII. 

IN  the  first  week  of  October  we  received  a 
joyous  telegram  from  our  father  bidding 
us  leave  for  home  as  speedily  as  possible. 
My  brother,  who  was  returning  to  Europe 
by  a  packet-boat  on  its  way  from  Panama, 
was  to  disembark  at  Southampton ;  we  had 
but  just  time  enough  to  reach  home  if  we 
wished  to  be  there  to  welcome  him. 

We  arrived  the  evening  of  the  third  day 
just  in  time,  for  my  brother  was  expected  a 
few  hours  later  on  the  night  train.  I  had 
barely  time  to  put  into  his  room,  in  their 
accustomed  places,  the  various  little  trinkets 
that  he  had  four  years  previously  confided  to 
my  care,  before  the  hour  set  for  our  departure 
to  the  station  to  meet  him.  To  me  his  return, 
announced  so  unexpectedly,  did  not  seem  a 
reality,  and  I  was  so  excited  that  for  two 
nights  I  scarcely  slept  at  all. 

That  is  why,  in  spite  of  my  impatience  to 
see  my  brother,  I  fell  asleep  at  the  station ; 
when  he  appeared  it  seemed  a  sort  of  dream 
to  me.  I  embraced  him  timidly,  for  he  was 
very  different  from  my  mental  image  of  him. 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc*         273 

He  was  bronzed  and  bearded,  his  manner 
of  speech  was  more  rapid,  and,  with  a 
slightly  smiling,  slightly  anxious  expression, 
he  regarded  me  fixedly,  as  if  to  ascertain 
what  the  years  had  done  for  me,  and  to 
deduce  from  that  what  my  future  was  to  be. 
When  I  returned  home  I  fell  asleep  stand- 
ing; it  was  that  dead  sleepiness  of  a  child 
fatigued  by  a  long  journey,  against  which  it 
is  futile  to  struggle,  and  I  was  carried  to 
my  bed. 


274        ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 


CHAPTER   LXXIII. 

I  AWAKED  the  following  morning  with  a 
feeling  of  joyousness  that  penetrated  to 
the  very  depths  of  my  being,  and  as  I  re- 
membered the  cause  for  my  happiness  my 
eyes  fell  upon  an  extraordinary  object  stand- 
ing on  a  table  in  my  room.  It  was  evidently 
a  very  slim  canoe  with  a  balance  beam  and 
sails.  Then  my  gaze  encountered  other 
unfamiliar  objects  scattered  about :  neck- 
laces of  shells  strung  on  human  hair,  head- 
dresses of  feathers,  ornaments  appertaining 
to  a  dark  and  primitive  savagery ;  it  was  as  if 
distant  Polynesia  had  come  to  me  during  my 
sleep.  My  brother,  it  seems,  had  already 
begun  to  open  his  cases,  and  while  I  slept  he 
had  slipped  noiselessly  into  my  room  and 
grouped  around  me  these  ornaments  intended 
for  my  museum. 

I  jumped  out  of  bed  quickly  so  that  I 
might  go  and  find  him,  for  I  had  scarcely 
seen  him  the  evening  before. 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc,         275 


CHAPTER   LXXIV. 

AND  it  seems  I  hardly  saw  him  during 
those  hurried  weeks  that  he  spent  with 
us.  Of  that  period,  which  lasted  so  short  a 
time,  I  have  very  confused  visions,  similar 
to  those  one  has  of  things  seen  during  a 
rapid  journey.  I  remember  vaguely  that  we 
lived  more  gayly,  and  that  his  presence 
among  us  brought  many  young  people  to  our 
house.  I  remember  also  that  he  seemed  at 
times  to  be  preoccupied  and  absorbed  by 
things  entirely  outside  the  family  sphere ; 
perhaps  he  had  longings  for  the  tropics,  for 
the  "delicious  island,"  or  it  may  be  he 
dreaded  his  early  departure. 

Sometimes  I  held  him  captive  near  the 
piano  by  playing  for  him  the  haunting  music  of 
Chopin  which  I  had  but  just  begun  to  under- 
stand. He  was  disquieted  however  by  my 
playing,  and  he  said  that  Chopin's  music  was 
too  exuberant  and  at  the  same  time  too 
enervating  for  me.  He  had  come  among  us 
so  recently  that  he  was  better  able  to  judge 
of  me  than  were  the  others,  and  he  realized 
perhaps  that  my  intellect  was  in  danger  of 


276         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc. 

becoming  warped  through  the  nature  of  the 
artistic  and  intellectual  effort  it  put  forth ;  no 
doubt  he  thought  Chopin  and  the  "  Donkey's 
Skin "  equally  dangerous,  and  considered 
that  I  was  becoming  excessively  affected 
and  abnormal  in  spite  of  my  fits  of  childish 
behavior.  I  am  sure  that  he  thought  even 
my  amusements  -were  fanciful  and  un- 
healthy. Be  that  as  it  may,  he  one  day,  to 
my  great  joy,  decreed  that  I  should  learn 
to  ride  horseback,  but  that  was  the  only 
change  his  coming  made  in  my  education. 
Cowardice  prompted  me  to  defer  discussion 
of  those  weighty  questions  appertaining  to 
my  future  which  I  was  so  anxious  to  talk 
over  with  him  ;  I  preferred  to  take  my  time, 
and,  too,  I  shrunk  from  making  a  decision, 
and  thus  by  my  silence  I  sought  to  prolong 
my  childhood.  Besides,  I  did  not  consider  it 
a  pressing  matter  after  all,  inasmuch  as  he 
was  to  be  with  us  for  some  years.  .  .  . 

But  one  fine  morning,  although  we  had. 
reckoned  so  largely  on  keeping  him,  there 
came  news  of  a  higher  rank  and  an  order1 
from  the  naval  department  commanding  him 
to  start  without  delay  for  a  distant  part 
of  the  orient,  where  an  expedition  was  or- 
ganizing. 

After  a  few  days  which  were  mainly 
spent  in  preparing  for  that  unforeseen  cam- 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc,         277 

paign  he  left  us  as  if  borne  away  by  a  gust  of 
wind. 

Our  adieus  were  less  sad  this  time,  for  we 
did  not  expect  him  to  be  absent  more  than 
two  years.  ...  In  reality  it  was  his  eternal 
farewell  to  us ;  whatever  is  left  of  his  body 
lies  at  the  bottom  of  the  Indian  Ocean, 
towards  the  middle  of  the  Bay  of  Bengal. 

When  he  had  departed,  while  the  noise  of 
the  carriage  that  was  bearing  him  away 
could  still  be  heard,  my  mother  turned  to 
me  with  an  expression  of  love  that  touched 
me  to  the  very  innermost  fibre  of  my  being ; 
and  as  she  drew  me  to  her  she  said  with  the 
emphasis  of  conviction :  "  Thank  God,  at 
least  we  shall  keep  you  with  us !  " 

Keep  me  !  .  .  .  They  would  keep  me  !  .  .  . 
Oh  !  .  .  .  I  lowered  my  head  and  turned  my 
eyes  away,  for  I  could  feel  that  their  expres- 
sion had  changed,  had  become  a  little  wild. 
I  could  not  respond  to  my  mother  with  a 
word  or  a  caress. 

Such  a  serene  confidence  upon  her  part 
distressed  me  cruelly,  for  the  moment  in 
which  I  heard  her  say,  "  We  shall  keep 
you,"  I  understood,  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life,  what  a  firm  hold  on  my  mind  the 
project  of  going  away  had  taken  —  of  going 
even  farther  than  my  brother,  of  going  every 
where  upon  the  face  of  the  earth. 


278        Ube  Stors  of  a 

A  sea-faring  life  terrified  me,  and  I  relished 
the  idea  of  it  as  little  as  ever.  To  a  little 
being  like  me,  so  greatly  attached  to  my 
home,  bound  to  it  by  a  thousand  sweet  ties, 
the  very  thought  of  it  made  my  heart  bleed. 
And  besides  how  could  I  break  the  news  of 
such  a  decision  to  my  parents,  how  give 
them  so  much  pain  and  thus  flagrantly  out- 
rage their  wishes  !  But  to  renounce  all  my 
plans,  always  to  remain  in  the  same  place, 
to  be  upon  this  earth  and  to  see  nothing  of 
it  —  what  a  squalid,  disenchanting  future ! 
What  was  the  use  to  live,  what  the  good  of 
growing  up  for  that? 

And  in  that  empty  parlor  with  its  disor- 
dered chairs,  one  even  overturned,  and  while 
I  was  still  under  the  dark  spell  of  our  sad 
farewells,  there  beside  my  mother,  leaning 
against  her  with  eyes  turned  away  and  with 
soul  overwhelmed  with  sorrow,  I  suddenly 
remembered  the  old  log-book  which  I  had 
read  at  sunset  last  spring  at  Limoise.  The 
short  sentences  written  down  upon  the  old 
paper  with  yellow  ink  came  slowly  back  to 
me  one  after  the  other  with  a  charm  as  lull- 
ing and  perfidious  as  that  exercised  by  a 
magic  incantation : 

"  Fair  weather  .  .  .  beautiful  sea  .  .  . 
light  breeze  from  the  south-east  .  .  .  Shoals 
of  dolphins  .  .  .  passing  to  larboard  " 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbtl^        279 

And  with  a  shudder  of  almost  religious 
awe,  with  pantheistic  ecstasy,  my  inward 
eye  saw  all  about  me  the  sad  and  vast  blue 
splendor  of  the  South  Pacific  Ocean. 

A  great  calm,  tinged  with  melancholy,  fell 
upon  us  after  my  brother's  departure,  and 
to  me  the  days  were  monotonous  in  the 
extreme. 

They  had  always  thought  of  sending  me  to 
the  Polytechnic  school,  but  it  had  not  been 
decided  upon  irrevocably.  The  wish  to  be- 
come a  sailor,  which  had  obtruded  itself 
upon  me  almost  against  my  will,  charmed 
and  terrified  me  in  an  almost  equal  degree ; 
I  lacked  the  courage  necessary  to  settle  such 
a  grave  matter  with  myself,  and  I  always 
hesitated  to  speak  of  it.  The  upshot  was 
that  I  decided  to  reflect  over  it  until  my  next 
vacation,  and  thus  by  my  irresolution  and 
delay  I  secured  to  myself  a  few  more  months 
of  careless  childhood. 

I  still  led  as  solitary  a  life  as  ever ;  it  'was 
very  difficult  for  me  to  change  the  bent  that 
my  mind  had  taken  in  spite  of  my  mental 
distress  and  in  spite  of  my  latent  desire  to 
roam  far  and  wide  over  the  earth.  More 
than  ever  I  staid  in  the  house  and  busied 
myself  painting  stage  scenery,  and  playing 
Chopin  and  Beethoven ;  to  all  appearances  I 
was  tranquil  and  deeply  absorbed  in  my 


280         Ube  Stors  ot  a  Gbilfc. 

dreams,  and  I  became  ever  more  and  more 
attached  to  my  home,  to  its  every  nook  and 
corner,  even  to  the  stones  in  its  walls.  It  is 
true  that  now  and  again  I  took  a  horseback 
ride,  but  I  always  went  with  a  groom  and 
never  with  children  of  my  own  age  —  I  still 
had  no  young  playmates. 

My  second  year  at  college  was  much  less 
painful  than  my  first ;  it  passed  more  quickly, 
and  moreover  I  had  formed  an  attachment 
for  two  of  my  classmates,  my  elders  by  a 
year  or  two,  the  only  ones  who  had  not  the 
preceding  year  treated  me  disdainfully. 
The  thin  ice  once  broken,  there  had  sprung 
up  between  us  an  ardent  and  sentimental 
friendship ;  we  even  called  each  other  by  our 
baptismal  names,  something  that  was  con- 
trary to  school  etiquette.  Since  we  never 
saw  each  other  except  in  the  schoolroom,  we 
were  obliged  to  communicate  in  mysterious 
whispers  under  the  teacher's  eye,  our  rela- 
tions, consequently,  were  inalterably  courte- 
ous and  did  not  resemble  the  ordinary 
friendship  between  boys.  I  loved  them  with 
all  my  heart ;  I  would  have  allowed  myself 
to  be  cut  into  bits  for  them  ;  and,  in  all  sin- 
cerity, I  imagined  that  this  affection  would 
endure  throughout  my  life. 

My  excessive  exclusiveness  caused  me  to 
treat  the  others  in  the  class  with  great  in- 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbfifc.         281 

difference  and  haughtiness ;  still  a  certain 
superficial  self,  necessary  for  social  purposes, 
had  already  begun  to  take  shallow  root,  and 
I  knew  better  now  how  to  remain  on  good 
terms  with  them,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
keep  my  true  self  hidden  from  them. 

I  generally  contrived  to  sit  between  my 
two  friends,  Andre  and  Paul.  If,  however, 
we  were  separated  we  continually  and  slyly 
exchanged  notes  written  in  a  cipher  to  which 
we  alone  had  the  key. 

These  letters  were  always  love  conn-jf 
dences  :  "  I  have  seen  her  to-day ;  she  wore 
a  blue  dress  trimmed  with  gray  fur,  and  she 
has  a  lark's  wing  on  her  turban,  etc.  —  For 
we  had  chosen  sweethearts  who  became  the 
subject  of  our  very  poetical  prattle. 

Something  of  the  ridiculous  and  whimsical 
invariably  marks  this  transition  age  in  a 
boy's  life,  and  for  that  reason  I  have  thought 
it  worth  while  to  transcribe  the  boyish  note. 

Before  going  further  I  wish  to  say  that  my 
transition  periods  have  lasted  longer  than  do 
those  of  the  majority  of  men,  and  during 
them  I  have  been  carried  from  one  extreme 
to  another ;  and,  too,  they  have  caused  me 
to  touch  all  the  perilous  rocks  along  life's 
way,  —  I  am  also  fully  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  until  almost  my  twenty-fifth  year  I  had 
eccentric  and  absurd  manners. 


282         Ube  Ston?  ot  a  GbfU>. 

But  now  I  will  continue  with  my  confi- 
dences respecting  our  three  love  affairs. 

Andre  was  ardently  in  love  with  a  young 
lady  almost  six  years  older  than  himself 
who  had  already  been  introduced  into  society, 
—  I  believe  that  his  affair  was  a  case  of  real 
and  deep  affection. 

I  had  chosen  Jeanne  for  my  sweetheart, 
and  my  two  friends  were  the  only  beings 
who  knew  my  secret.  To  do  as  they  did, 
although  I  considered  it  a  little  silly,  I  wrote 
her  name  in  cipher  on  the  covers  of  my  copy- 
books ;  in  every  way  and  manner  I  sought 
to  persuade  myself  of  the  ardor  of  my  pas- 
sion, but  I  am  bound  to  admit  that  the  whole 
thing  was  a  little  artificial,  for  the  amusing 
coquetry  that  Jeanne  and  I  had  indulged  in 
early  in  our  acquaintance  had  developed  into 
a  true  and  great  friendship,  a  hereditary 
friendship  I  may  call  it,  a  continuation  of 
that  felt  by  our  ancestors  long  before  our 
birth.  No,  my  first  real  love,  of  which  I 
will  soon  speak,  was  for  a  being  seen  in  a 
dream. 

As  for  Paul  —  alas  !  His  heart  affair  was 
very  shocking  to  me,  for  it  did  particular 
violence  to  the  ideas  that  I  then  had.  He 
was  in  love  with  a  little  shop-girl  -who 
worked  in  a  perfumery  store,  and  on  his 
Sunday  holidays  he  gazed  at  her  through 


Ube  Stors  of  a  CWI6.        283 

the  show-case  window.  It  is  true  that  she 
was  named  Stella  or  Olympia,  and  that 
raised  her  somewhat  in  my  esteem;  and, 
too,  Paul  took  pains  to  surround  his  love 
with  an  ethereal  and  poetic  atmosphere  in 
order  to  make  it  more  acceptable  to  us.  At 
the  bottom  of  his  cipher  notes  he  constantly 
wrote,  for  our  benefit,  the  sweetest  rhymed 
verses  dedicated  to  her,  wherein  her  name, 
ending  in  "a,"  recurred  again  and  again,  like 
the  perfume  of  musk. 

In  spite  of  my  great  affection  for  him  I 
could  not  but  smile  pityingly  over  his  poetic 
effusions.  And  I  think  that  it  is  partly  be- 
cause of  them  that  I  have  never,  at  any 
epoch  in  my  life,  had  the  least  inclination 
to  write  a  single  line  of  verse.  My  notes 
were  always  written  in  a  wild  and  free 
prose  that  outraged  every  rule. 


284        ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbiifc. 


CHAPTER    LXXVI. 

PAUL  knew  by  heart  many  verses  of  a 
forbidden  poet  named  Alfred  de  Musset. 
The  strange  quality  of  these  verses  troubled 
me,  and  yet  I  was  fascinated  by  them.  In 
class  he  would  whisper  them,  in  a  scarcely 
perceptible  voice,  into  my  ear;  and  although 
my  conscience  accused  me,  I  used  to  allow 
him  to  begin : 

Jacque  etait  immobile  et  regardait  Marie, 
Je  ne  sais  ce  qu'avait  cette  femme  endormie 
D'etrange  dans  ses  traits,  de  grand,  de  deja  vu. 

(Jacque  was  very  quiet  as  he  looked  at  Marie, 

I  know  not  what  that  sleeping  maiden 

Had  of  mystery  in  her  features,  the  noblest  ever  seen.) 

In  my  brother'  s  study,  where  from  time  to 
time,  when  I  was  overwhelmed  with  sorrow 
over  his  departure,  I  isolated  myself,  I  had 
seen  on  a  shelf  in  his  book-case  a  large  vol- 
ume of  this  poet's  works,  and  often  I  had 
been  tempted  to  take  it  down ;  but  my  par- 
ents had  said  to  me :  "  You  are  not  to  touch 
any  of  the  books  that  are  there  without  per- 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc.        285 

mission  from  us,"  and  my  conscience  always 
gave  me  pause. 

As  to  asking  for  permission,  I  knew  only 
too  well  that  my  request  would  be  re- 
fused. 


286         Ube  Stors  of  a  GbUt>. 


CHAPTER    LXXVII. 

I  WILL  here  recount  a  dream  that  I  had  in 
my  fourteenth  year.  It  came  to  me  dur- 
ing one  of  those  mild  and  sweet  nights  that 
are  ushered  in  by  a  long  and  delicious  twi- 
light. 

In  the  room  where  I  had  spent  all  the 
years  of  my  childhood  I  had  been  lulled  to 
sleep  by  the  sound  of  songs  that  the  sailors 
and  young  girls  sang  as  they  danced  around 
the  flower-twined  May-pole.  Until  the  mo- 
ment of  deep  sleep  I  had  listened  to  those 
very  old  national  airs  which  the  children  of 
the  people  were  singing  in  a  loud,  free  voice, 
but  distance  softened  and  mellowed  and 
poetized  the  voices  as  they  traversed  the 
tranquil  silence ;  strangely  enough  I  had 
been  soothed  by  the  noisy  mirth  and  over- 
flowing joyousness  of  these  beings  who, 
during  their  fleeting  youth,  are  so  much 
more  artless  than  we,  and  more  oblivious 
of  death. 

In  my  dream  it  was  twilight,  not  a  sad 
one  however,  but  on  the  contrary,  the  air 
was  soft  and  mild  and  overflowing  with 


Ube  Stors  of  a  CbfU>.         287 

sweet  odors  like  that  of  a  real  May  night.  I 
was  in  the  yard  of  our  house,  the  aspect  of 
which  was  not  changed  in  any  particular, 
but  as  I  walked  beside  the  walls  all  abloom 
with  jasmine,  honeysuckle  and  roses,  I  felt 
restless  and  troubled  as  if  I  was  seeking  for 
some  unnamable  something  ;  I  seemed  to 
have  a  consciousness  that  some  one,  whom 
I  wished  ardently  to  see,  awaited  my  com- 
ing ;  I  felt  as  if  there  was  about  to  happen  to 
me  something  so  strange  and  wonderful  as 
to  intoxicate  me  by  its  very  advance. 

At  a  spot  where  grew  a  very  old  rosebush, 
one  that  had  been  planted  by  an  ancestor  and 
for  that  reason  guarded  sacredly,  although 
it  did  not  bear  more  than  one  rose  in  two  or 
three  years,  I  saw  a  young  girl  standing 
motionless  with  a  seductive  and  mysterious 
smile  upon  her  lips. 

The  twilight  became  a  little  deeper,  the 
air  more  languorous. 

Everywhere  it  became  darker ;  but  about 
her  there  shone  a  sort  of  indeterminate  light, 
like  that  coming  from  a  reflector,  and  her 
figure  outlined  itself  clearly  against  the 
shadows  in  the  background. 

I  guessed  that  she  was  very  beautiful  and 
young ;  but  her  forehead  and  her  eyes  were 
hidden  from  me  by  the  veil  of  night ;  indeed, 
I  could  see  nothing  very  distinctly  except 


288          ttbe  Stors  of  a  CbfU>. 

the  exquisite  oval  of  her  lower  face,  and  her 
mouth  which  was  parted  smilingly.  She 
leaned  against  the  old  flowerless  rosebush, 
almost  in  its  branches.  Night  came  on 
rapidly.  The  girl  seemed  perfectly  at  home 
in  the  garden ;  she  had  come  I  knew  not 
from  where,  for  there  was  no  door  by  which 
she  could  have  entered ;  she  appeared  to  find 
it  as  natural  to  be  here  as  I  found  it  natural 
to  find  her  here. 

I  drew  very  close  in  order  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  her  eyes  which  puzzled  me ;  suddenly,  in 
spite  of  the  darkness  that  became  ever 
thicker,  I  saw  them  very  distinctly  ;  they  also 
were  smiling  like  the  lips  ;  —  and  they  were 
not  just  any  impersonal  eyes,  such,  for  in- 
stance, as  may  be  found  in  a  statue  repre- 
senting youth ;  no,  on  the  contrary  they 
were  very  particularly  somebody's  eyes; 
more  and  more  they  impressed  me  as  be- 
longing to  some  one  already  much  beloved 
whom  I,  with  transports  of  infinite  joy  and 
tenderness,  had  found  again. 

I  waked  from  sleep  with  a  start,  and  as  I 
did  so  I  sought  to  retain  the  phantom  being 
who  faded  away  and  became  more  and  more 
intangible  and  unreal,  in  proportion  as  my 
mind  grew  clearer  through  the  effort  it  made 
to  remember.  Could  it  be  possible  that  she 
was  not  and  had  never  been  more  than  a 


Stors  of  a  CbfU>.         289 

vision?  Had  nothingness  re-engulfed  and 
forever  effaced  her  ?  I  longed  to  sleep  again 
so  that  I  might  see  her;  the  thought  that 
she  was  an  illusion,  nothing  more  than  the 
figment  of  a  dream,  caused  me  great  de- 
jection and  almost  overwhelmed  me  with 
hopelessness. 

And  it  took  me  a  very  long  time  to  forget 
her ;  I  loved  her,  loved  her  tenderly,  and 
the  thought  of  her  always  stirred  into  life 
an  emotion  that  was  sweet  but  sad ;  and 
during  those  moments  every  thing  uncon- 
nected with  her  seemed  colorless  and  -worth- 
less. It  was  love,  true  love  with  all  its  great 
melancholy  and  deep  mystery,  with  its  over- 
whelming but  sad  enchantment,  love  that, 
like  a  perfume,  endows  with  a  fragrance  all 
it  touches ;  and  that  corner  of  the  garden 
•where  she  had  appeared  to  me  and  the  old 
flowerless  rosebush  that  had  clasped  her  in 
its  branches  awakened  in  me,  because  of 
her,  agonizing  but  delicious  memories. 


200        Ube  Stors  of  a  GbiU>. 


CHAPTER   LXXVIII. 

AND  again  came  radiant  June.  It  was 
evening,  the  exquisite  hour  of  twilight. 
I  was  alone  in  my  brother's  study  where  I 
had  been  for  some  time ;  the  window  "was 
opened  wide  to  a  sky  all  golden  and  pink, 
and  I  stood  beside  it  and  listened  to  the 
martins  uttering  their  shrill  cries  as  they 
circled  and  darted  above  the  old  roofs. 

No  one  knew  that  I  was  there,  and  never 
before  had  I  felt  so  isolated  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  nor  more  tempted  by  the  unknown. 

With  a  beating  heart  I  opened  a  volume  of 
De  Musset's  poems  :  his  Don  Paez. 

The  first  phrases  were  as  musical  and 
rhythmical  as  if  sung  by  a  seductive  golden- 
voiced  siren : 

Sourcils  noirs,  blanches  mains,  et,  pour  la  petitesse 
De  ses  pieds,  elle  etait  Andalouse  et  comtesse. 

(Black    eyebrows,   snow-white   hands,   and   to   indicate 

the  tinyness 
Of  her   feet,  I   need   only  say  she   was  an  Andalusian 

countess.) 

That  spring  night  when  the  darkness  fell 
about  me,  when  my  eyes,  although  never  so 


Ube  Stot£  of  a  Cbflfc.         291 

close  to  the  book,  could  no  longer  distinguish 
anything  of  the  enchanting  verses  save  rows 
of  little  lines  that  showed  gray  against  the 
white  of  the  page,  I  went  out  into  the  town 
alone. 

In  the  almost  deserted  streets,  not  yet 
lighted,  the  rows  of  linden  and  acacia  trees 
all  abloom,  deepened  the  shadows  and  per- 
fumed the  air  with  their  heavy  fragrance.  I 
pulled  my  felt  hat  over  my  eyes  and,  like 
Don  Paez,  I  strode  along  with  a  light  supple 
step,  and  looked  up  at  balconies  and  in- 
dulged in  I  know  not  what  little  childish 
dreams  of  Spanish  twilights  and  Andalusian 
serenades. 


292         Ube  Storp  of  a  GbfU>. 


CHAPTER   LXXIX. 

VACATION  came  again,  and  for  the  third 
time  we  took  the  journey  to  the  South, 
and  there  in  the  glorious  August  and  Sep- 
tember sunshine  all  passed  off  in  the  same 
fashion  as  during  preceding  summers ;  the 
same  games  with  my  loyal  band,  the  expedi- 
tions to  the  vineyards  and  mountains ;  in  the 
ruins  of  Castelnau,  the  same  brooding  over 
mediaeval  times,  and,  in  the  sequestered 
-woodland  path  where  we  had  struck  our  vein 
of  silver,  we  still  eagerly  turned  up  the  red 
soil,  putting  on  meantime  the  airs  of  bold 
adventurers,  —  the  little  Peyrals,  however,  no 
longer  believed  in  the  mines. 

These  beginnings  of  summer,  always  so 
alike,  deluded  me  into  thinking  that  in  spite 
of  my  occasional  fears  my  childhood  would 
be  indefinitely  prolonged ;  but  I  no  longer 
felt  "joy  at  my  waking  ;  "  a  sort  of  disquie- 
tude, such  as  oppresses  one  when  he  has 
left  his  duty  undone,  weighed  upon  me  more 
and  more  heavily  each  morning  when  I 
thought  that  time  was  flying,  that  the  vaca- 
tion would  soon  be  over,  and  that  I  still 
lacked  the  courage  to  come  to  a  decision  in 
regard  to  my  future. 


Tlbe  Stors  of  a  CbilO.         293 


CHAPTER  LXXX. 

AND  one  day,  when  September  was  more 
than  half  over,  I  realized,  because  of  the 
particularly  torturing  anxiety  I  felt  when  I 
waked,  that  I  must  no  longer  defer  the  mat- 
ter —  the  term  which  I  had  allotted  to  my- 
self -was  over. 

In  my  heart  of  hearts  I  had  more  than 
half  determined  what  my  decision  was  to 
be ;  but  before  it  could  be  rendered  effective 
it  was  necessary  for  me  to  avow  it,  and  I 
promised  myself  that  the  day  should  not 
pass  away  without  my  having,  as  courage- 
ously as  possible,  accomplished  that  task. 
It  was  my  intention  to  first  confide  in  my 
brother ;  for  although  I  feared  that  in  the  be- 
ginning he  would  oppose  me  with  all  his 
power,  I  hoped  that  he  would  finally  take 
my  part  and  help  me  carry  the  day. 

Therefore,  after  the  mid-day  dinner,  when 
the  sun  was  hottest,  I  carried  my  pen  and 
paper  into  my  uncle's  garden,  and  I  locked 
myself  in  there  for  the  purpose  of  writing 
my  letter.  It  was  one  of  my  boyhood  habits 
to  study  or  write  in  the  open  air,  and  often 


294         TTbe  Stors  of  a  CbfU), 

I  chose  the  most  singular  places  —  tree-tops 
or  the  roof —  for  my  work. 

It  was  a  hot  and  cloudless  September 
afternoon.  The  old  garden,  silent  and  mel- 
ancholy as  ever,  gave  me,  strangely  enough, 
more  than  the  customary  feeling  of  regret 
that  I  was  so  far  away  from  my  mother,  that 
all  of  summer  would  pass  -without  my  seeing 
my  home  and  the  flowers  in  the  beloved 
little  yard.  And  then,  too,  what  I  was  upon 
the  point  of  writing  would  result  in  separat- 
ing me  still  farther  from  all  that  I  loved,  and 
for  that  reason  I  felt  extraordinarily  sad.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  there  was  something  a 
little  funereal  in  the  air  of  the  garden,  as  if 
the  walls,  the  plum  trees,  the  vine-covered 
bower,  even  the  very  alfalfa  fields  beyond 
the  garden,  were  vitally  interested  in  this, 
the  first  grave  act  of  my  life  -which  was  about 
to  take  place  under  their  eyes. 

For  the  purpose  of  writing  I  hesitated  be- 
tween two  or  three  places,  all  blazing  hot 
and  almost  shadeless.  It  was  my  way  of 
gaining  time,  an  attempt  to  delay  writing 
that  letter  which,  with  the  ideas  I  then 
had,  would  render  my  decision,  once  I  had 
announced  it,  irrevocable.  The  sun-baked 
earth  was  already  strewn  with  red  vine 
branches  and  -withered  leaves ;  the  holly- 
hocks and  dahlias,  grown  tall  as  trees,  had  a 


ttbe  Stors  of  a  Cbfifc*         295 

few  meagre  blossoms  at  the  tops  of  their  long 
stalks  ;  the  blazing  sun  perfected  and  turned 
to  gold  the  musk-scented  grapes  that  always 
ripened  a  little  late  ;  but  in  spite  of  the  exces- 
sive heat  and  the  exquisite  limpid  blue  of 
the  sky  one  felt  that  summer  -was  over. 

I  finally  selected  the  arbor  at  the  end  of 
the  garden  for  my  purpose.  Its  vines  -were 
stripped  of  their  leaves,  but  the  steel-blue 
butterflies  and  the  wasps  still  came  and 
poised  themselves  upon  the  tendrils  of  the 
grape-vines. 

There  in  the  calm  and  tranquil  solitude,  in 
the  summer-like  silence  filled  with  the  musi- 
cal chirp  of  insects,  I  wrote  and  timidly 
signed  my  compact  with  the  sea. 

Of  the  letter  itself  I  remember  very  little ; 
but  I  recall  distinctly  the  emotion  with 
which  I  enclosed  it  in  its  envelope  —  I  felt 
as  if  I  had  forever  sealed  my  destiny. 

After  a  few  moments  of  deep  reverie  I 
wrote  the  address  —  my  brother's  name  and 
the  name  of  a  country  in  the  far  Orient  where 
he  then  was  —  on  the  envelope.  There  was 
now  nothing  more  to  do  save  to  take  it 
to  the  village  post-office;  but  I  remained 
seated  there  in  the  arbor  for  a  long  time  in 
a  dreamy  mood.  I  leaned  against  the  warm 
wall  where  the  lizards  ran  back  and  forth, 
and  held  upon  my  knees,  with  a  feeling  of 


296         Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbflb* 

uncertainty  and  dismay,  the  little  square  of 
paper  wherein  I  had  settled  my  future. 
Then  I  was  seized  with  a  longing  to  look 
towards  the  horizon,  to  have  a  glimpse  of 
the  great  spaces  beyond  the  garden ;  and  I 
put  my  foot  into  the  familiar  breach  in  the 
wall  by  means  of  which  I  often  mounted,  in 
order  to  watch  the  flight  of  elusive  but- 
terflies, and,  with  the  aid  of  my  hands,  I 
raised  myself  to  the  top  of  the  wall  and 
leaned  there  propped  by  my  elbows.  The 
same  well-known  prospect  greeted  me :  the 
hillsides  covered  with  red  vines,  the  wooded 
mountains  whose  trees  were  rapidly  being 
stripped  of  their  yellow  leaves,  and  above, 
perched  high,  the  noble  reddish-brown  ruin 
of  Castelnau.  And  in  the  nearer  distance 
was  Bories  with  its  old  rounded  porch 
white  with  lime-wash  ;  and  as  I  looked  at 
it  I  seemed  to  hear  the  plaintive  refrain  : 
"  Ah  !  Ah  !  the  good,  good  story !  "  sung  in 
a  strange  voice,  and  at  the  same  time  there 
appeared  to  me  the  vision  of  the  pinkish- 
yellow  butterfly  which  two  years  before  I 
had  pricked  with  a  pin,  and  placed  under 
glass  in  my  little  museum. 

It  drew  near  the  hour  for  the  ancient  coun- 
try diligence,  that  took  the  letters  away  from 
the  village,  to  depart,  and  I  scrambled  down 
from  the  wall,  and  after  locking  the  garden 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Gbilfc.         297 

gate,  I  slowly  directed  my  steps  towards  the 
post-office. 

Like  one  with  eyes  fixed  upon  a  vision,  I 
walked  along  without  taking  notice  of  any- 
thing or  any  one.  My  spirit  was  wandering 
far  away,  in  the  fern-carpeted  forests  of  the 
delicious  isle,  along  the  sands  of  gloomy 
Senegal  -where  had  lived  the  uncle  who  had 
interested  himself  in  my  museum,  and  across 
the  South  Pacific  Ocean  where  the  dolphins 
were  passing. 

The  assured  nearness  and  certainty  of 
these  things  intoxicated  me ;  for  the  first 
time  in  my  existence  the  world  and  life 
seemed  to  open  before  me ;  my  way  was 
illuminated  by  a  light  altogether  new  to  it : 
it  is  true  the  light  was  a  little  mournful,  a 
little  sad,  but  it  was  powerful  nevertheless, 
and  penetrated  to  the  far  distant  horizon 
where  lie  old  age  and  death. 

Many  little  childish  images  obtruded  them- 
selves from  time  to  time  into  my  lofty  dream  ; 
I  saw  myself  in  a  sailor's  uniform  walking 
upon  the  sun-blistered  quays  of  tropical 
lands;  and  I  prefigured  my  home-comings, 
after  perilous  voyages,  bringing  with  me 
cases  filled  to  the  brim  with  wonderful 
things  out  of  which  cockroaches  escaped  as 
they  had  done  formerly  in  Jeanne's  garden 
when  her  father's  boxes  were  unpacked. 


298          Ube  Stors  of  a  CMlfc* 

But  suddenly  a  pang  went  through  my 
heart:  those  returns  from  distant  countries 
could  not  take  place  for  many  years  —  the 
faces  welcoming  me  home  would  be  changed 
by  time  !  Instantly  I  pictured  those  beloved 
faces  to  myself;  in  a  wan  vision  I  saw  them 
all  together.  Although  its  members  received 
me  with  smiles  of  joyous  welcome,  it  was  a 
sad  group  to  look  upon,  for  wrinkles  seamed 
every  brow,  and  my  mother  had  white  curls 
such  as  she  has  to-day.  And  my  great  aunt 
Bertha,  already  so  old,  would  she,  too,  be 
there  ?  With  a  sort  of  uneasiness,  I  was 
rapidly  making  a  calculation  of  my  aunt 
Bertha's  age  when  I  arrived  at  the  post- 
office. 

I  did  not  hesitate,  however ;  with  a  hand 
that  trembled  only  a  little  I  slipped  my 
letter  into  the  box,  and  the  die  was  cast. 


Stors  ot  a  Gbiifc.        299 


CHAPTER   LXXXI. 

I  WILL  end  these  reminiscences  here, 
because  what  follows  is  not  yet  distant 
enough  from  me  to  be  submitted  to  the  un- 
known reader.  And  besides  it  seems  to  me 
that  my  childhood  really  came  to  an  end 
upon  the  day  in  which  I  announced  my  decis- 
ion in  regard  to  my  future. 

I  was  then  fourteen  and  a  half  years  of 
age,  and  that  gave  me,  therefore,  three  years 
and  a  half  in  which  to  prepare  myself  for  the 
naval  academy,  consequently  I  had  time  to 
do  it  thoroughly  and  properly. 

But  in  the  meantime  I  had  to  encounter 
many  refusals  and  all  sorts  of  difficulties 
before  my  admittance  to  the  Borda.  And 
later  I  lived  through  many  troublous  years ; 
years  replete  with  struggles  and  mistakes, — 
I  had  many  a  Calvary  to  climb  ;  I  had  to 
pay  cruelly  and  in  full  for  having  been  reared 
a  sensitive,  shy  little  creature;  by  force  of 
will  I  had  to  recast  and  harden  my  physical 
as  well  as  my  moral  being.  One  day,  when 
I  -was  about  twenty-seven  years  of  age,  a 
circus  director,  after  having  seen  my  mus- 


300         Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbilfc. 

cles  that  then  had  the  elasticity  and  strength 
of  steel,  gave  utterance,  in  his  admiration,  to 
the  truest  words  I  have  ever  had  addressed 
to  me:  "What  a  pity,  sir,"  he  said,  "that 
your  education  commenced  so  late  i " 


Ube  Stors  of  a  CbtK>*        301 


CHAPTER    LXXXII. 

MY  sister  and  I  had  expected  to  visit  the 
mountains  again  the  next  summer. 

But  Azrael  passed  our  way;  terrible  and 
unexpected  misfortunes  disrupted  our  tran- 
quil and  happy  family  life. 

And  it  was  not  until  fifteen  years  later, 
after  I  had  been  over  the  greater  part  of  the 
earth,  that  I  revisited  this  corner  of  France. 

All  was  greatly  changed  there  ;  my  uncle 
and  aunt  slept  in  the  graveyard ;  my  boy 
cousins  had  left,  and  my  girl  cousin,  who 
already  had  threads  of  silver  among  her  dark 
locks,  was  preparing  to  quit  this  part  of  the 
country  forever,  this  empty  house  in  which 
she  did  not  wish  to  live  alone  ;  and  the  Titi 
and  the  Marciette  (whose  names  were  no 
longer  prefaced  by  the  article)  had  grown 
into  tall  young  ladies  whom  I  would  not 
have  recognized. 

Between  two  long  voyages,  in  a  hurry  as 
always,  my  life  hastening  feverishly  upon  its 
way,  in  remembrance  of  by-gone  days,  I 
made  this  pilgrimage  to  my  uncle's  house 
to  see  it  once  more,  and  for  the  last  time, 


302        Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbiifc. 

before  it  was  delivered  into  the  hands  of 
strangers. 

It  was  in  November,  and  the  cold  gray 
sky  completely  changed  the  aspect  of  the 
country,  which  I  had  never  seen  before 
except  under  the  glorious  summer  sun. 

After  spending  my  only  morning  in  revisit- 
ing a  thousand  places,  my  melancholy  ever 
augmented  by  the  lowering  winter  clouds,  I 
found  that  I  had  forgotten  the  old  garden 
and  the  vine-clad  arbor  in  whose  meagre 
shade  I  had  come  to  so  momentous  a  decis- 
ion, and  I  wished  to  run  there,  at  the  last 
moment,  before  my  carriage  took  me  away 
from  this  spot  forever. 

"  You  will  have  to  go  alone,"  said  my 
cousin,  who  was  busy  packing  her  trunks. 
She  gave  me  the  large  key,  the  same  large 
key  that  I  carried  in  the  warm  and  radiant 
days  of  old  when  I  went  there,  net  in  hand, 
to  catch  the  butterflies  ...  oh !  the  sum- 
mers of  my  childhood,  how  marvellous  and 
how  enchanting  they  were  ! 

For  the  last  time  of  all,  I  entered  the  gar- 
den, which  under  the  gray  sky  appeared 
shrunken  to  me.  I  went  first  to  the  arbor, 
now  leafless  and  desolate,  in  which  I  had 
written  the  portentous  letter  to  my  brother, 
and,  by  means  of  the  same  breach  in  the 
wall  that  had  served  me  in  days  gone  by,  I 


Ube  Stors  of  a  Cbflfc.         303 

lifted  myself  to  the  coping  to  get  a  hasty 
glimpse  of  the  surrounding  country,  to  bid  it 
a  last  farewell.  Bories  looked  singularly 
near  and  small  to  me,  it  was  almost  unre- 
cognizably so,  and  the  mountains  beyond 
seemed  diminished  also,  appeared  no  higher 
than  little  hills.  And  all  of  these  things  that 
formerly  I  had  seen  flooded  with  sunlight, 
now  looked  dull  and  sinister  in  the  wan,  gray 
November  light,  and  under  the  dark  and 
wintry  clouds.  I  felt  as  if  with  the  com- 
mencement of  nature's  autumn,  my  life's 
autumn  had  also  dawned. 

And  the  world,  the  world  which  I  had 
thought  so  immense  and  so  full  of  wonder 
and  charm  the  day  that  I  leaned  on  this  same 
wall,  after  I  had  made  my  decision,  —  the 
whole  wide  world,  did  it  not  look  as  faded 
and  shrunken  to  me  now  as  this  poor  land- 
scape ? 

And  especially  Bories,  that  under  the 
autumnal  sky  looked  like  a  phantom  of  itself, 
filled  me  with  the  deepest  sadness. 

As  I  gazed  at  it  I  recalled  the  pinkish- 
yellow  butterfly  still  under  its  glass  in  my 
museum ;  it  had  remained  there  in  the  same 
spot,  and  had  preserved  its  fresh  bright  hues 
during  the  time  that  I  had  sailed  all  round 
the  globe.  For  many  years  I  had  not  thought 
of  the  association  between  the  two  things ; 


304         Ube  Stors  of  a  CbUt>. 

but  as  soon  as  I  remembered  the  yellow 
butterfly,  which  was  recalled  to  my  mind  by 
Bories,  I  heard  a  small  voice  within  me  sing 
over  and  over,  very  softly:  "Ah!  Ah!  the 
good,  good  story!"  .  .  .  The  little  voice 
was  strange  and  flute-like,  but  above  all  it 
was  sad,  sad  enough  for  tears,  sad  enough 
to  sing  over  the  tomb  where  lie  buried  the 
vanished  years  and  dead  summers. 


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— 


MAY  26  193Q 


*' 


LD  21-95m-7,'37 


YB79I72 

I 


